


Sunflowers and Ink

by indecentpause



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Background Relationships, Bisexual Character, Depression, Fairy Work, Florist Meara, M/M, Magic-Users, Sheraton Academy (original work) AU, Tattoo Artist Josselin, That One Tattoo Artist/Florist Prompt from Tumblr a Year or So Ago, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecentpause/pseuds/indecentpause
Summary: In the year Meara and Josselin have been working next door to each other, Meara has never worked up the nerve to say hello. But one afternoon, closeness and chance bring them across each other and it leads to a somewhat embarrassing first date. But Meara has problems and secrets, lots of them, and Josselin seems so nice, but can he understand? Will he stay? A Sheraton Academy AU.Sheraton Academy is a now defunct RP, from 2003-2010.{{COMPLETE}}





	1. Chapter 1

Meara was daydreaming again. It was easy to get distracted by the tattoo parlor next door; the wall between it and his floral shop was nearly solid glass. It was tinted, but still transparent. The building had once been a kitchen and his shop the open back of house where the patrons could watch the chefs at their work, but he’d ripped out everything but the coolers. He’d replaced the doors with clear ones and used them to store cut flowers and certain types of plant food. Rows upon rows of roses and sunflowers and baby’s breath were lined up side by side in rainbows of color, but what his shop was mostly known for were his more exotic flowers. Cultivated wildflowers, succulents, cacti, herbs that were hard to find and harder to grow, hibiscus, honeysuckle, among dozens of other things. They were all piled up on staggered shelves against the front window and the walls. Even so, sometimes, if he stood on his toes and leaned a little to the right, Meara could peek through the leaves and blossoms and into the tattoo parlor on the other side, where the lanky, bespectacled man who he’d never worked up the nerve to introduce himself to worked crouched over his clients, coloring them with beautiful art.

* * *

 

Josselin turned off the needle and wiped away the last of the extra ink from Gabriel’s arm. His sleeve was finally finished, after three sessions of work; one of line, two of color. He could usually get something like this done in just one or two, but Gabriel had had a very specific vision and Josselin had wanted to do everything he could to meet it. The French man was one of their best clients, after all, and other people would sometimes even commission him to design tattoos that Josselin later ended up doing. He brought them a lot of business.

It was in classic Ed Hardy street style, with flowers and koi and a tiger skull as the centerpiece on the inside of his lower arm. Gabriel flexed and flinched, then grinned brightly as he turned his arm this way and that to get a better view of his new color.

“I love it, chou,” he said.

“Good,” Josselin grinned back. The other artists were both working with their own clients, but all Gabriel saw was the new art on his arm. Josselin dropped the needle in the sharps container under his desk and put his gun to the side, then pulled off his gloves and threw them away. As Gabriel stood, Josselin rolled his chair back and pulled his long black hair out of its ponytail and back into a much cleaner one.

“You know the drill,” Josselin said. He stood to lead Gabriel to the front desk where he could pay. “Keep it moisturized and keep it clean. If there’s any sign of infection, see your doctor, then call me, okay?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Gabriel said.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Josselin laughed. “I just have to go over all of it, legally. Each time, even for repeat customers like you.”

“Thank, you, cher,” Gabriel said. “It’s beautiful.” He air kissed each of Josselin’s cheeks and Josselin laughed, ushering him up to his assistant to pay for the work.

* * *

 

Meara looked away from the glass wall when the bell on his front door rang, the gentle, tinny sound of fake brass. A young man covered in tattoos walked in. Meara recognized him as one of the parlor’s regulars, although he’d never come into his flower shop.

“Good afternoon!” he smiled. He shook his brown curls out of his face as he settled down flat on his feet and turned to the young man. The young man’s left arm was covered wrist to shoulder with plastic. He must have just gotten it done.

“Hello!” He had a faint, but pleasant French accent. “I’m looking for something for my boyfriend. Do you have anything… hard to kill?”

Meara’s mouth tightened as he tried not to laugh. He nodded. “I have some things,” he said. “How hard to kill to you need?”

“Um.” The young man scratched the back of his head. “Very.”

“Okay.” Meara finally did laugh, gently. “Do you want something cut or something growing? Cut flowers will all die within a week regardless of what you do, but as long as you care for growing plants correctly they can last indefinitely.”

“Let’s go with growing.”

Meara led him over to the succulents and cacti, some of which were arranged in spiraling terra cotta pots with dry-soil herbs and desert wildflowers. Fairy gardens.

“Oh, these are beautiful,” the young man said.

“Thank you,” Meara said. “I designed them myself. But I’d suggest staying away from herbs. I’d say a succulent of some kind. They only need watering every ten days and you can easily put an alarm in your phone if you’re prone to forget or lose track, and they’re pretty forgiving if you’re a day or two late. As long as you keep to a regular watering schedule, even if they are underwatered, they may not blossom, but they won’t die.”

“ _Perfect_.” The tattooed man looked up from the shelf. “And the succulents are these little puffy looking ones, right?”

“Right,” Meara laughed.

“Can you make an arrangement?” he asked. “Like, if I buy…” His hand lingered in the air, then he pointed at three different plants in quick succession. “These three, and a bigger pot, and the dirt and everything, will you put it together?”

“For an extra three dollars, yes,” Meara said.

“Excellent!” The man grinned. “Let’s do that. I trust you to make something pretty.”

“It’ll take me about ten minutes,” Meara said. “Do you want to wait or come back?”

“Can I come back in about an hour? I still have some other shopping to do and I’d rather this be the last thing I pick up.”

“Not a problem,” Meara smiled. “I close at six.”

* * *

Meara was in the back cutting open a bag of fine gravel to start the succulent arrangement when the bell on the front door rang again. He wiped his hands on his canvas apron and walked out into the front, where he saw the tattoo artist whose name he didn’t know looking through the cooler doors at the carnations. His arms were covered completely in color, all different flowers and plants, some with little labels like one would see in a botany book. Meara could just barely see the corners of something peeking over the collar of his shirt, dark blue against pale skin, and he had a sunflower on the side of his neck. The artist adjusted his wire-framed glasses. Meara slipped his own thick black ones out of his pocket and onto his face. He never wore them while he was working with dirt. They were impossible to get clean afterward.

“Hello!” he called. “Can I help you find something?”

The man turned toward him and grinned. “Hey! I figure, first I should introduce myself since we’ve been next door to each other for so long: I’m Josselin.”

“Meara.” He smiled.

“I’m looking to get a bouquet for someone really special,” Josselin said. “She doesn’t like roses much, though. I see you have sunflowers. What would you suggest for an arrangement with a few of those?”

Meara’s smile didn’t falter. He was, of course, disappointed that Josselin was seeing someone, but why wouldn’t he be? He was simultaneously adorable and sexy and had a really cool job. What wasn’t there to be attracted to?

“We don’t usually use sunflowers for arrangements,” he said. “Generally they just… are.”

Josselin bit the corner of his mouth and looked down. He looked so distraught, standing there and staring at his shoe. Like the world was riding on this arrangement.

So Meara quickly added, “But I’m sure I can figure something out. Maybe some white carnations? The shape would contrast nicely. Or irises; their shape is completely different, but it could add some height, and the blue and yellow would be really nice. With a little Queen Anne’s Lace to flesh it out?”

Josselin looked up, eyes bright. “Do you have any yellow button poms?”

“I do!” Meara nearly clapped with excitement. It was so rare his customers knew anything about flowers or wanted anything other than roses. Aside from Josselin and the tattooed man from earlier, all he’d sold all day had been roses and a few herb plants.

“She loved those,” he said. “Could you put some of those in?”

Meara was so caught up in the flowers that he didn’t notice Josselin’s switch to past tense.

“Of course! Anything you want!”

He took a little longer than necessary to pull it together. He wanted it to be perfect. It was okay that Josselin had a girlfriend. It was disappointing, but Meara honestly didn’t have that much invested in him. For Gods’ sakes, he hadn’t even known the man’s name until twenty minutes ago!

He was about to wrap the flowers in paper when Josselin stopped him.

“No paper,” he said. “Just a plain string, if you have it.”

“I do.”

Meara snipped off a piece of string from his spool under the counter and carefully tied the flowers in a few places so the bouquet would keep its shape. Josselin paid with cash and Meara counted out his change.

“Thank you so much,” Josselin said as he picked up the flowers, cradling them gently in his left arm. “Mom’s going to love them.”

Meara’s heart skipped. Mom? So they _weren’t_ for a girlfriend?

“I hope she does,” he smiled. “Would you like a card?”

Josselin shook his head. “I know everything I want to say.”

* * *

 

The church was small and unassuming, and from the front it looked more like a library than a place of worship. Josselin pushed through the front door. Unlocked, which meant someone was here. It was off hours -- usually there were only people here in the morning to afternoon unless they were prepping for Sabbat and Esbat rituals -- so it would be quiet, at least, even if there was someone there.

Josselin didn’t bump into anyone on his way to the memory garden. He used to play here when he was little, around the small pond, in the flowers and grass. He and his mom traveled a lot while he was growing up, but the church was one constant, one safe place that he always knew he could come back to any time they were in San Francisco.

He knelt down in the grass by the metal plate with her name on it and laid the flowers underneath it.

“Hey, Mom,” he started. “I hope wherever you are, you’re doing well. I don’t know if you’ve hit your turnaround on the reincarnation cycle yet, but I like to think some part of you is left that can still hear me.

“I got some new work done,” he continued. He pulled off his shirt to show a dark blue tattoo of the Triple Goddess symbol on his chest. “I had Christian do it, since he’s the best in the shop. It’s based on the design you wore on your necklace, see?” He gestured at the three moons loosely, then pulled his shirt back on. It was starting to get chilly. Autumn was coming. He should’ve popped upstairs to his apartment above the shop for a hoodie before he came over.

Josselin sat in the grass for a while, talking to his mom, occasionally adjusting a blossom or a leaf on the flowers he’d brought or gently ushering a bee away. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers and apples and the hum of fat, fuzzy bumblebees. Josselin could have easily fallen asleep here with his mom under the thick trees, but he forced himself up before he did. He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the plaque, then stood, leaving the flowers where they were. He’d come back in a few days to clean up the remains.

“I love you, Mom,” he said. “I still miss you, even ten years later. But that probably never goes away, huh?”


	2. Chapter 2

Meara armed the alarm and rushed through the store, flicking the overhead lights off as he left. He locked the door behind him, pushed on it to test it. When it pushed back, he pocketed his key and sighed heavily, leaning against the wall between his shop and the tattoo parlor. The dusty red brick was hard and cold on his shoulders and back, but he needed to get the weight off his feet. He was only open ten hours a day -- nine if he took away the hour he closed for lunch -- but he was still exhausted. The barest of breezes tousled his hair and he closed his green eyes, breathing in through his nose, sighing it back out of his loosely parted lips. The door beside him opened and he turned toward the tattoo parlor when he heard a familiar voice.

“Yes?”

Meara opened his eyes. Josselin was standing there expectantly, waiting.

“… What?” Meara asked.

“I don’t know,” Josselin laughed. “ _You_ rang _my_ doorbell.”

Meara stood up straight and turned around to see that his shoulder blade had indeed pressed into a button on the wall that he’d never paused to notice before.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t even realize there was a doorbell there. I was just resting before I had to walk down the street to the bus stop.”

Josselin smiled. His eyes darted over the younger man. He hadn’t been paying attention before because he was so wrapped up in the flowers, but Meara was _cute_ , tall and wiry with a messy, chin length mop of curly brown hair and bright, _bright_ green eyes behind those silly hipster glasses. His nose was a little too big and his smile was even bigger, with the slightest of gaps between his front teeth.

He hesitated, and, instead of going back inside, Josselin said, “Well, now that you have me out here, do you want to go across the street for coffee?”

Meara looked over at the coffee shop he’d frequented numerous times in the year his shop had been here, then back at Josselin again. He grinned, big and bright and showing all his teeth.

“Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

* * *

 

The coffee shop was dim, as always, with dark walls covered in graffiti painted by local artists. The style belied the owner’s background -- he’d been the lead guitarist of a popular local metal band for years before they disbanded and he opened Jussi’s Awesome Coffee. Meara appreciated the webcomic reference -- obvious enough to anyone with a passing familiarity, but clear enough that anyone else would just think it was a quirky name. Their sizes came in small, medium, and awesome, but Meara always forgot to order his drinks that way and asked for a large instead. Nobody cared. They knew what he meant.

The barista, a tall, pretty, half Black, half Indian woman about Meara’s age named Josephine, waved at the two as they came in.

“Josselin! Meara! I’ve seen you both a hundred times but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in together!”

“We officially met today,” Josselin said.

“It’s about time,” Josephine grinned. “Meara moved in a year ago. And you’re only just now introducing yourself? Rude, Josselin. Rude.”

Both men laughed. Josselin shook his head.

“I’ll just take my regular,” he said.

“With food or without?”

He paused. “With,” he finally said.

She rang him up and then took Meara’s order, which was another, “My regular, too, please.”

Josephine smirked, but didn’t tell them why, and turned away so she could make their drinks.

“I’ll bring them out to you,” she said over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Meara said. Josselin grinned and waved his thanks as Josephine turned back around.

They sat at a small, two person table near the window. The evening fog was rolling in from the bay, casting a grey, hazy light over the streets and the buildings. To their left, against the wall, was a small shelf full of books and zines by local writers, the top shelf covered with flyers for local shows and groups and organizations.

“I love this place,” Meara said. “We’re so lucky we have something like this so near to where we work.” He turned back to Josselin. “And where you live? Or do tattoo parlors often make a habit of having doorbells?”

Josselin laughed and pulled off his glasses, wiping down the lenses on his shirt. His eyes were a striking brown, soft, like a deer’s. He slipped them back on and said, “I live in the apartment upstairs.”

“Oh, so it’s your footsteps I hear up there sometimes.”

“Sorry.” Josselin grinned sheepishly.

Josephine approached, a plastic cup in each hand and a plate balanced on her left arm. She placed Meara’s drink down in front of him.

“Awesome iced soy vanilla latte with vegan whip,” she said.

“Oh, that’s mine --“ Josselin started to reach over but Josephine batted his hand away.

“It most certainly is not,” she said. “I would never make that mistake. _This_ Awesome iced soy vanilla latte with vegan whip is yours.” She placed the other cup down in front of Josselin, followed by his sandwich.

“And a vegan grilled cheese with tomato,” she added.

“Enjoy, guys,” she grinned. She looked over her shoulder when the front door bell rang. “Looks like we’ve got some more customers, so I’ve got to go.”

Meara popped the lid off his drink and took a slurp of his whipped cream. “I can’t believe we have the same regular,” he chuckled. “That’s pretty hilarious. What are the odds, right?”

“I know!” Josselin grinned. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his latte.

“So, you’re a vegan, I can assume by your order?”

“Except bee products, yeah,” Josselin said. “I know it’s a pretty hot-button issue in the community, but I think the pros of eating honey outweigh the cons. It keeps bee populations alive. Bees are so important, you know?”

_Oh my Gods, Josselin, your first time out with the cute florist from next door and you’re rambling about bees!? Nobody cares!_

“I know,” Meara said. “Bees are one of the most important things we’ve got.”

_You’ve got to be kidding me,_ Josselin thought. The look of shock must have been obvious on his face, because Meara grinned and said,

“I’m a florist, Josselin. I understand the importance of bees more than most.”

“How did you get into that, anyway?” Josselin asked. “That’s not exactly the kind of job you fall into.”

“When I was growing up, my parents had a lot of money but weren’t around much, so I was mostly raised by, like, maids and cooks and gardeners and such. Our gardener was this little old woman who was really into landscaping with flowers, and she knew all sorts of things about not just the practical aspect of growing, but the symbolic and medicinal aspects, too. And it was just fascinating. And I couldn’t afford to go to school, but my friend’s family was willing to give me a loan to start a business, so I thought, you know, let’s just do it, right? And then I found the shop next to yours, and with all the glass and light, it was perfect. So I decided to go for it! Knowing Danny --”

“Danny?”

“Sorry, the friend whose family gave me the loan. Knowing they won’t try to destroy my life if it fails and I can’t pay them back right away is also a huge weight off my shoulders. But I’ve been going strong for a year, so.” He knocked on the laminated wooden table three times in quick succession.

Josselin nodded. But why couldn’t Meara afford school if he came from a rich family? Did they have a falling out? He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business, at least, not at this point.

“What about you?” Meara asked. “How did you get into a tattoo parlor? That’s not exactly something you fall into, either.”

“I used to doodle a lot growing up,” he said. “I was on the road a lot, because my mom homeschooled me and thought it would be better if I could see all these places she taught me about instead of just reading about them in a book. I have journals and journals of sketches and doodles of things I saw. But eventually I started getting pretty good, and out of comic art and tattooing, tattooing’s more likely to keep me in work, so after my mom died I decided to go to school. It was my first formal school and let me tell you, it was an experience.”

“Your mom… I’m so sorry,” Meara said. “But those flowers earlier…?”

“I was visiting her grave,” Josselin said.

Meara swallowed. And he’d been jealous of some imaginary girlfriend. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s been ten years. I still miss her, and it still hurts, but it’s just a part of life, now. It gets easier with time.”

They fell into a pause. Josselin started to eat his sandwich before it got cold and the cheese started to harden and congeal. For a while, they sat in silence as Josselin ate and Meara slowly sipped at his latte and picked at his whipped cream. Finally, the younger man worked up the nerve to ask,

“So, Josselin, what’s this one? On your chest?” He gestured at his own chest, in the general area of where the two points rose above Josselin’s shirt.

Josselin was chewing when Meara asked. He put his hand over his mouth and his sandwich down, lifting one finger. _Just a second_. He finished swallowing and said, “It’s the triple Goddess symbol.”

“Are you a neo-pagan?”

“I’m an Gardnerian Wiccan,” he said. “I was initiated the day after my nineteenth birthday. I grew up in it but since my mom died when I was fourteen I kind of had to take a break for a while because there was no adult who could say it was okay. But I went back once I was legal to go through the initiatory phase.”

“Mm,” Meara said, around a mouthful of whipped cream. His last. Only coffee was left, now.

Meara’s reply was non-committal, and Josselin wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that his mouth was full or his religion. The fact that Meara assumed to ask if he was neo-pagan was promising, but he’d gotten a lot of trouble for his religion and didn’t often talk about it unless someone asked about it specifically. Josselin had thought he’d gotten some good vibes from Meara’s store, but had he been mistaken?

“I do fairy work,” Meara finally said. He wiped a fluffy bit of cream from the corner of his mouth. “You should see the room I live in. Flowers, fairy lights, shiny baubles, candles, all over the place. Don’t worship any gods, though.”

“Fair enough.” Josselin smiled. A florist who did fairy work? It was so perfect it could have been from a picture book.

“I’d ask you about your religion, but I know you’re oathbound, so --”

“So I can’t. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Meara grinned.

They fell into another awkward silence. Meara looked up when the bell on the door rang to see the man who had bought the three succulents from him walk in.

“He was at my store earlier,” he said, mostly to himself.

“What?”

Meara looked back at Josselin. “Oh, sorry, I was mumbling to myself.” He nodded toward Gabriel. “He was in my shop earlier. He bought some plants from me. He said specifically that they needed to be hard to kill because they were for his boyfriend.”

Gabriel walked up to the empty counter where he shared a quick conversation with Josephine. He pulled out the plant Meara had sold him and placed it in front of the cash register. As he spoke, he held up ten fingers. Meara smiled. Water it every ten days or so.

“He’s one of my regulars,” Josselin said. “His name’s Gabriel.”

“Yeah, he came in with plastic on his arm,” Meara said.

“He got a bunch of work done today. Finished up his sleeve. He must have come into your place after I finished.”

“Well, I know he’s not dating Josephine, because he explicitly said boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure she’s seeing a woman.”

“Jussi,” Josselin said.

“Hm?” Meara turned back to Josselin again.

“He’s dating Jussi.”

Meara sat up a little straighter and pointed his finger into the table. “This Jussi? Who owns the coffee shop?”

“Yeah,” Josselin said.

Another looming pause, again threatening to be awkward until Josselin asked,

“Do you drink?”

Meara shrugged. “Occasionally. I’m picky, though.”

“Do you want to maybe… come back to my place for a drink? If I don’t have anything you like, I do have coffee and, like, twenty kinds of tea, too. I only take clients by appointment after five and I don’t have any tonight.” He always blocked out the anniversary of his mother’s death. To give him time to get to her grave and spend some time with her, to do a quick ancestor’s offering, and also, just in case that year was harder than the last. So far, it had been fine.

Meara hesitated. He’d have to take the bus home, and the walk to the stop wasn’t far, but he shouldn’t try to make it drunk. But he didn’t even have to drink; Josselin had offered him an out before he’d even accepted. He’d just have a cup of coffee, they’d talk for a while, and he’d be on his way.


	3. Chapter 3

Josselin may have taken the evening off, but the rest of the artists didn’t, and, his assistant, Sara, was still in her swivel chair at the front desk while the two other artists, Christian and Dante, worked on clients. A young woman with a neck tattoo sat in a waiting chair flipping through an art book. Josselin smiled and waved at Sara, who grinned back and gave him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t miss Meara’s blush. Christian and Dante were too busy to bother giving him a hard time.

Josselin led Meara into the back room and up the stairs, where he unlocked a small, unassuming door. The apartment was narrow but sprawling, taking up half the width of the building below but the entire length, Meara’s store included. It smelled of sandalwood and sage and patchouli.

Josselin flipped the light on and led Meara through a small hallway into the kitchen.

“I’ll just have coffee,” Meara said. “I have to take the bus home.”

“Fair enough,” Josselin said. “If something changes, I can also get you a cab.”

Meara offered a nervous, tentative smile and looked around the kitchen. It was the kind of kitchen made for cooking but clearly Josselin didn’t use it much, because there were only two pans, a pot, and a spatula hanging on the wall and the stove was too clean to have been used regularly by someone who worked such long hours. Josselin pulled a tin out of one of his cabinets and started the coffee. When he put it back, Meara glimpsed a bottle of amaretto.

“Oh, no, you have amaretto?” he laughed.

Josselin turned around.

“Amaretto in my coffee is my biggest vice.”

Josselin smiled and pulled down the bottle. “Help yourself,” he said.

* * *

 

Meara wasn’t sure whether he was a lightweight or whether he just drank a lot faster than Josselin because the older man was sipping at a tumbler of whiskey while he could barely taste his alcohol and had gone through half a pot of coffee. Either way, he was warm and he was relaxed enough to blurt out, “Can I see your chest piece?”

Josselin’s cheeks were a little warm. What Meara had lost track of and thought was his first cup was actually his second, and he was starting to get a little drunk. _I won’t get **drunk** drunk,_ he told himself. He would retain _some_ of his decorum.

But not enough to deny Meara’s request. He laughed and pulled off his shirt, pushing his hair out of his face when the collar knocked it into his mouth. Meara’s breath caught.

Josselin was skinny and had very little muscle, but his skin was soft and pale, nearly a translucent white beneath the dark blue ink of his Triple Goddess tattoo. Something else that looked like a candle flame peeked out on his hip above the waistband of his jeans, but Meara knew better than to ask to see it. He wasn’t _that_ drunk.

The tattoo was simple, just dark blue lines and blocking, with no extra decoration. But the lines were smooth and perfect without a bump or blemish to be found.

“It’s really nice,” Meara said. He took a sip of his fourth cup of coffee. “Also, you are very hot.”

Josselin snorted into his whiskey and put it down on the side table. They’d relocated into the living room on the old black couch Sara had given him when she’d moved into her new place. It faced the windows, which looked back on the alley behind the tattoo parlor. It wasn’t much of a view, but at least it let in a lot of sun, and he could see the moon when it was out. Various sun catchers and wind chimes hung in the window, casting and reflecting colored light across the dingy brown carpet.

“I might be a little drunk,” Meara admitted.

“I’d say so.” Josselin smiled. “You want to get going home? I can call you a cab.”

Meara shook his head. “Nah. It’s early. I think if I want anything more I’ll just have tea until I sober up. I’m just a little tipsy, not like, _drunk_.”

“You’re drunk enough to tell some scrawny guy covered in flowers that he’s hot,” Josselin prodded.

“Um, because he _is_?” Meara laughed. “I’ve been watching you through the window for a while. I was just never able to work up the nerve to say hi.”

Josselin laughed. He leaned over and picked up his whiskey, scooting away from Meara just slightly as he straightened to give him some space. He was a little drunker than he let Meara see, and he didn’t want to do anything stupid. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d peered in the florist’s window when he walked by, hoping to catch a glance.

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“Couple weeks now. Watching you guys work is fascinating. And you’re gorgeous.” Meara suddenly realized what he was saying and turned bright red. He leaned forward and put his mug on the coffee table in front of them. When he sat back up, he buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled around his fingers. “I can’t believe I just said all that. I’m so sorry. You probably think I’m a creep. And we work right next to each other! Now you’re going to have to deal with knowing I’m there and --”

“No,” Josselin smiled. “I think you’re adorable and I think you were shy.”

Meara peeked out through his fingers. “Yeah?” he whispered.

Josselin smiled. “Yeah,” he said.

* * *

 

For some reason, Josselin wasn’t putting his shirt back on. Meara didn’t know why, but he didn’t mind, because Josselin’s tattoos were beautiful and honestly, so was the man underneath them. He’d finished his coffee and was on his first cup of tea, an Echinacea and rosehip blend Josselin had made himself. He slowly sipped at the fragrant, herbaceous cup as they talked, and as the time went by and the sun went down outside and he started to sober up, the reality of the situation started to sink in.

_He was sitting next to the hot tattoo artist from next door, who was shirtless, and they were both drunk._

This was a recipe for disaster and Meara needed to get out. He stood, starting to excuse himself, but he overbalanced and toppled back onto the couch, half on Josselin’s right leg. He scrambled off and shoved himself up against the arm rest on the opposite side as his hands shot out.

“I’m so sorry,” he slurred. “I think I’m a little drunker than I thought. I’m sorry.” He paused, looking up at the clock above the small shrine against the far left wall. His eyes slipped shut and he groaned. “And I lost track of time and missed the last bus.”

“If you can’t stand up, you shouldn’t be taking a bus anywhere, anyway,” Josselin said. He picked his shirt up off the floor and slipped it back on. Clearly wherever things were going, they had stopped short, and Meara was too nervous to continue. “I can call you a cab when you’re ready to go. I’ll pay if you don’t have the money. I keep plenty of cash stashed away from my tips.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Well, you know where to find me.” Josselin smiled and hesitated, then added, “You can also crash on my couch if you need to. Super convenient. Work’s right downstairs for tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know…” Meara nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

Josselin put his hands up. “No pressure. Just letting you know it’s an option. You don’t have to take it.”

Meara finally smiled. “Thank you,” he said softly. Something soft bumped against his ankle and he jumped. He looked down. A small black cat sat there, gently headbutting his leg.

“Hey,” Meara said softly. He leaned down and held out his hand. The cat sniffed it, then rubbed its face in his fingers. “Who are you?”

“That’s Familiar,” Josselin said. “She’s my baby.”

“Subtle,” Meara grinned. Josselin laughed.

Familiar hopped up onto the couch in between them and laid her head on Meara’s leg. He scratched her behind the ears, up and down her neck.

“Is she shy?” he asked. His eyes were locked on the little black cat as he pet her.

“No,” Josselin said. “I think she was just on one of her adventures.”

“Adven --?”

“I’ve never let her outside myself, but Sara and the guys downstairs have sworn they’ve seen her around the city. I think she gets in and out through the mirrors.”

Meara’s brow furrowed. Josselin swallowed. He bit his lip and hooked a stray hair behind his ear.

“I mean, you said you work with fairies, right? You must have seen stranger.”

Meara’s mouth turned down, then he laughed. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “They do say that cats are of the fae. Cait sidhe.” He looked down at Familiar. “Do you have a white spot on your chest?” He gently lifted the cat’s front leg so he could peek, and she did, shaped like a feather. He looked up at Josselin with a smirk.

“I think you have a fairy cat on your hands,” he said. “I hope you give her milk on Samhain.”

“Every October,” Josselin laughed.

The conversation fell into a lull as Meara continued to pet Familiar and she crawled into his lap. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, letting out his breath in a thick whoosh of air.

“Are you okay?” Josselin asked.

“A little spinney,” Meara said.

“Do you want something to eat? That might help.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

The couch shifted as Josselin stood and Meara listened to his footsteps receding into the kitchen. Familiar stayed curled up in his lap, purring. Josselin shuffled around in the kitchen for a few moments, then called out, “I don’t have much. I usually eat across the street or order takeout. I have some frozen broccoli and pasta?”

“Broccoli sounds delicious,” Meara called back. “That would be fine. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The pasta was loaded with broccoli and garlic and salt and olive oil and it was delicious. Meara had to fight to eat at a regular pace. He hadn’t eaten anything since he’d had lunch at eleven. He ate two bowls and could have eaten a third, but he didn’t want to seem greedy, so he stopped there. They didn’t speak much as they ate, another awkward silence with Familiar out of the room, in the kitchen eating her own dinner.

He hadn’t sobered up any by the time he was done eating, but having a full stomach made him a little less queasy, if a lot more tired. He yawned and stretched, wobbling slightly. He looked over at Josselin, who was just finishing the last of his food.

“Um,” he started.

Josselin looked up. “Hm?” he mumbled around a mouthful of pasta.

“It’s really late,” Meara blurted.

Josselin swallowed. “Yeah. Do you want to get going?”

“Actually.” Meara swallowed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, if your offer to crash on your couch is still open, I’d like to take you up on that.”

Josselin smiled. “Of course.”

“I don’t know how late a sleeper you are, but I open an hour before you do,” Meara said. “So… should I lock myself out if you’re not up yet, or?”

Josselin shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. The shop will be locked and there’s no other way in. Lock the shop door behind you, though.” He paused. “But I’ll probably be up.”

“Okay.”

“Also, a word of advice,” Josselin said. “If Familiar brings you one of her sparkle balls, shove it under your pillow. She wants to play fetch and if you throw it she won’t let you get a second of sleep.”

“Okay,” Meara laughed.

“I’ll get you some pillows and a blanket,” Josselin said. He could tell Meara was fading, and he didn’t want to force the other man to stay up later than was comfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

Meara woke up the next morning before his alarm. His phone said it was 8:00. His stomach lurched when he sat up, his head pounding.

“I didn’t even drink that much,” he muttered to himself. But then, it had been a while since he’d touched alcohol at all. When he started on the coffee and amaretto, he didn’t stop, so he didn’t keep it in his apartment.

“You had a little more than you think.” Meara opened his eyes and peered around the corner to see Josselin in the kitchen. He pressed the button on his coffee grinder and Meara flinched at the loud whir.

“Yeah?” Meara chuckled. “How would you know?” But the accusation was lighthearted and playful.

“I was keeping track,” Josselin said. “I could tell you weren’t. Neighbors are supposed to look out for each other, you know?”

“Well, I wish you’d stopped me earlier,” Meara chuckled.

“I would have if I’d known you were such a lightweight.” Josselin turned the coffee grinder off and poured the grounds into the filter. “Do you like cinnamon?” he asked.

“I love cinnamon.”

“Okay.” He pulled a small jar of cinnamon out of one of his cabinets and pulled out a stick, breaking it up and dropping it in the coffee grounds.

Meara stood and stretched. The room smelled of frankincense and myrrh, and upon looking closer, he saw that Josselin had lit some incense on his shrine at the side of the room.

“That’s really nice incense,” he said. He inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slow and soft.

“It’s for my mom,” Josselin said. The coffee pot bubbled to life and he re-entered the living room. He was in a pair of flannel sleep pants and a grey a-shirt, showing off his full sleeves. “I light her one every morning.”

“For ten years?” Meara asked softly.

“Every day,” Josselin said. “It was her favorite. She did a lot of ancestor work and she always said it helped her connect. And it keeps the lines open so I can talk to her a little easier. She talks back less and less, but I’m pretty sure she can still hear me.”

“That’s really lovely,” Meara murmured. He tried not to be jealous that Josselin had a better relationship with his dead mother than he had with either of his living parents.

Familiar trotted in with a sparkly pink pom-pom and dropped it at Josselin’s feet. He crouched down and picked it up.

“Sit,” he said. She did. He threw it to the other side of the room and she scrambled after it, batting it around for a bit before bringing it back for him to throw again.

They talked and waited for the coffee to brew while Josselin and Familiar played fetch. After three throws, Josselin seemed to remember that he had company over and asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

Meara shook his head and took the ball from Josselin. His fingers brushed the older man’s palm. His hand was warm and covered in calluses. Familiar sat and mewled and Meara threw the ball across the room. She ran.

“No thanks,” he said. “I can’t eat first thing in the morning. I get sick, and I’m still a little off from last night. I can’t believe I let something like amaretto hit me so hard.”

Josselin laughed and stood. Meara followed.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We all have our vices.”

Josselin poured them each a cup of coffee and pointed out the sugar and coconut creamer, but Meara took it black.

“I only like sweetener in lattes,” he said. “In straight coffee, it’s amaretto or nothing.”

The two men stood side by side in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as they sipped their coffee, Meara’s black, Josselin’s caramel brown. Josselin tried to make small talk, but Meara would only mumble a few syllables and fall silent again in response. Eventually Josselin quieted. Familiar wandered into the kitchen and crunched a little bit of her food, then rubbed up against and wove between Meara’s and Josselin’s ankles, purring. Meara finished his coffee and put his mug down on the counter.

“I should get down,” he mumbled. He straightened and rubbed his shoulder, flexing his neck. “Oh, man, I hope this headache goes away soon.”

“Do you need something for it?” Josselin asked.

Meara shook his head. “Thank you.”

Josselin sent Meara down with a to-go mug of coffee to help him make his way through the morning. When he shut the door behind the younger man, he scooped up Familiar and sighed.

“I don’t think that went very well,” he said. Familiar meowed and headbutted his cheek.

“Yeah,” Josselin said. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

* * *

 

Josselin’s day was packed, with appointments nearly back-to-back and more than enough walk-ins that he had to delegate some of them to Christian and Dante. He had Sara call out for lunch and told her to order an extra plate of anything, as long as it was vegan. She ordered out Lebanese and bought an extra falafel wrap.

“Everyone likes falafel, right?” she called.

“If they don’t, they’re wrong,” Josselin called back. He didn’t look up from the piece he was working on, an angel on the side of a young woman’s ribcage. He went over the second rib and she hissed.

“Try to hold still,” he said gently. “Let me know if you need a break.”

* * *

 

When the food arrived a half hour later, Josselin was still working on the woman’s ribcage, so Sara put aside his food until he was done. Once he’d gone over care and upkeep with her, he walked her over to Sara so she could pay and he could get his food.

“Hey, lovely?” he asked.

“What do you want me to do?”

Josselin laughed. Sara knew he only broke out the pet names when he needed a favor. He grabbed a sticky note from her desk and scribbled out a message, then stuck it to the extra falafel wrap. “Could you run this next door for me?” he asked. Meara had seemed so hungry last night, and he hadn’t eaten anything this morning. Josselin didn’t know why, whether he’d just been too busy and skipped lunch yesterday or if he couldn’t afford it, but either way, he wanted to be sure the other man ate today.

“I’m going to run upstairs and grab something, then I need you to run it and this next door to the florist’s for me so I can have time to eat before my next client gets here. Can you do that?”

Sara smirked. “Did he leave a piece of clothing at your place last night?”

“He did not. Nothing came off and he fell asleep on my couch. But he had a hangover and I want to send over some willow bark tea. _That’s all_.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine,” she said. She pinched his cheek. “Only for you, dollface.”

* * *

 

Meara flinched when the bell over his door rang. He looked up past the flowers and herbs and squinted in the hazy light that filtered through the glass door. A woman carrying a small canvas bag walked in. She smiled and her bright blue eyes crinkled in the corners. Her short blue and blonde streaked hair was just barely damp.

“Is it raining?” he asked.

She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair. “No. It’s just the fog.”

“That’s good to hear. I’d hate to think of you out there without an umbrella. How can I help you?”

“You don’t recognize me?”

Meara blinked and frowned, looking her over closely.

“I do, actually, but I’m not sure from where. I’m sorry. When did we meet?”

She smiled and put the bag down on the counter. “I’m Sara. We were never officially introduced. I’m the tattooists’ assistant next door. We saw each other briefly when you came through.”

Meara turned bright red and laughed nervously. “Oh.” He cleared his throat behind a curled hand. “Well, um, I’m Meara. Nice to officially meet you. Can I help you with something?”

Sara shook her head and pushed the bag closer. “Josselin asked me to bring this over for you,” she said. “You can return the bag when you close. He’s booked until ten, so we’ll be there.”

“I --” Meara started, but Sara had already turned and made her way halfway across the small store.

“Thank you!” he called after her. She waved, and the bell rang behind her as she left. He opened the bag, and inside was some kind of foil wrapped food with a sticky note, a bag of herbs, and a thermos.

Meara picked up the food and read the note.

_Thought you might like some lunch since you didn’t eat breakfast. Also, here’s some willow bark tea in case you still have a headache. Water’s heated already in case you don’t have a microwave. Steep the herbs, covered, for ten minutes._

_Last night was fun. Can I see you again?_

_-Josselin._

Meara smiled. Hopefully that meant he didn’t make _too_ much of a fool of himself last night.

* * *

 

Meara didn’t stop back by the tattoo parlor that evening. He was exhausted after working all day and still had to make the walk and bus ride home. At least he didn’t live far from the route and only had to walk half a block from his stop.

When he got inside, the living room light was on but the room was empty. His roommate’s door was open. The familiar smell of lavender and lemongrass filtered through the apartment, so he knew at least Stacey was home.

“I’m home!” he called out. He flicked the light off and back on again. A few moments later, Stacey poked his head out of the door.

 _Is Adam home?_ Meara signed. Adam was Stacey’s boyfriend and they shared the bigger of the two bedrooms. Stacey shook his head.

_He’s at Mass. Wednesday. Where were you last night?_

Meara rubbed the side of his neck and cleared his throat, even though his Deaf roommate wouldn’t be able to hear it.

 _What?_ he finally signed.

 _Well, I didn’t see you last night or this morning and you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, so…?_ He left the sign hanging in the air, waiting for Meara to finish the sentence.

Meara sighed. Stacey’s dark brown eyes were sparkling. His shaggy brown hair waved slightly in the still air. The fae were near, and they were listening. And they despised lies even more than his roommate.

“You know the tattoo artist that works next door I talk about sometimes?” Meara finally mumbled.

Stacey sighed and rolled his eyes. He snapped in front of Meara’s face twice in quick succession.

 _I can’t read your lips when you mumble,_ he signed.

 _I’m sorry. I lost myself for a second,_ Meara signed back. He repeated himself in ASL. Stacey’s eyes lit up and his small 4’11” frame straightened. He nodded.

 _We went out for coffee and I went back to his place,_ Meara signed. Stacey laughed silently and clapped, then gave Meara a thumbs up. _Nothing happened!_ he added quickly. _We had drinks and I had too much and fell asleep on his couch after making an ass of myself. He was very cordial and gentlemanly about the whole thing._

Stacey’s smile was smug, but he didn’t press the issue. He simply signed, _I have a client coming in soon, and since Adam’s not here, would you be willing to translate for me? It’s so much easier than that dumb whiteboard._

 _Sure,_ Meara signed back. But it was distracted. He gazed out the large window that looked out over the street. The sill was covered in plants: jasmine, tea roses, delphiniums, geraniums. The herbs were in the kitchen window and there were even more plants in his room. That was one thing he was grateful for about Stacey’s cat allergy. They didn’t have to worry about a pet getting too curious and poisoning itself. The jasmine shimmered in the sunlight between the pink and yellow tea roses, and the long tendrils of flowers shifted as if in a breeze.

Meara didn’t see the fae as human, but as sparkles and speckles and shadows that didn’t quite belong there. A sparkle near the flowers, an out of sync movement in a candle flame, a shadow that rushed under his pillow where he’d suddenly find his cell phone when he’d left it in the living room. Sometimes, when they felt ignored, something sturdy and unbreakable would get thrown across the room from out of nowhere, like the time the pretzels got thrown off the top of the fridge and halfway across the kitchen.

 _Did you water the plants today?_ Meara asked.

Stacey shook his head. _Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to. I threw a little Reiki at the thyme because it’s looking sad, but nothing other than that._

_You weren’t. I just wanted to be sure. I’ll get that done now. Let me know when your client gets here, okay?_

Stacey grinned and gave Meara another thumbs up before disappearing back into his bedroom. There was some clunking around, and Meara knew he was getting things ready, so the client would probably be there soon.

Stacey’s nine-to-five was as a massage therapist at a sports club, but he offered Reiki healings and chakra alignments and cleanings by appointment out of the apartment a few days a week for his more new-agey clients. He’d grown up in a family of Hellenic polytheists, and while they actively worshiped the Old Greek Gods, they didn’t believe in magic or energy work, and his big teenage rebellion had been to get a third-degree Reiki attunement. His parents, to this day, thought it was a waste of money, but Stacey insisted that something had changed that afternoon and he could feel things differently, now. His patients felt the same way, so maybe it wasn’t a waste, after all. Meara certainly knew he felt different every time Stacey did a laying on of hands on him. Cleaner, clearer, more alert and more relaxed at the same time.

He filled his watering can in the kitchen sink, chanting softly to himself, “Tall and strong, full and green. Tall and strong, full and green.” When it was full, he took in a deep breath and let it slowly out on the water, opaque and white for only a split-second before it faded back to clear. He went through and watered each of the plants with care: the herbs in the kitchen window, the flowers in the living room, the assortment of plants scattered around his bedroom, each one an altar of its own. The watering can was still half-full when he was done, so he put it down in the corner and sat down on his bed, just breathing. It had been a busy thirty-six hours.

Every space in his bedroom was a shrine or an altar or a workspace, from the plants in his windowsills to the candles and incense set up atop his dresser. Drying herbs and flowers dangled upside down, pinned to a clothesline that hung from the ceiling, filling his room with the smell of green things. Bits of colored sea glass and shells hung in his windows, much like Josselin’s sans the windchimes, but there was one large chime in the center of the biggest window with an amethyst ringer. It was said that some fairies didn’t like bells, but Meara was pretty sure the ones that didn’t shouldn’t be in his space, anyway. There were no mirrors anywhere to be seen, only one small handheld one wrapped in black fabric tucked away in a drawer for banishing spells. Instead, the walls were covered in paintings and wooden carvings detailing fairies of all different types: humanoid, part animal, goblin-type creatures. There were shelves upon shelves of books and dried herbs and flowers and four different obvious altars and shrines: one for work, one for house fae where he left out offerings of shiny stones and milk and honey, one for those just passing through with a shallow bowl of water full of shiny pennies, and one for an entity he only knew as The Sea Hag, for she’d never given him her name and he knew better than to give her his.

 _If you give them your name, it gives them power over you._ Their old gardener had been full of wisdom about more than just plants.

They were on top of dressers and bookshelves and anywhere he had the space. His room was small. He’d offered the bigger one to Adam and Stacey when they moved in, because two people had twice the belongings and needed the extra space, but sometimes he wished space weren’t at such a premium in San Francisco. He loved the city, but it would be financially impossible to move anywhere bigger.

Meara dug around in his pocket for the penny he’d found on the walk home. It was shiny and new aside from a little dirt. He cleaned it off with the hem of his shirt and breathed on it to polish it, then flicked it into the bowl of water. It landed with a sploosh and a metallic _ting_.

“Penny for the pixies,” he said.

He finally kicked his shoes off and stuffed them under his bed, then lit a stick of incense called simply “glade,” that called up memories of clean water and fresh green things. He blew out the flame and put the stick in the holder on The Sea Hag’s shrine to burn out, then plopped down on his back on the bed.

He’d made a complete idiot of himself last night, but Josselin said in his note that he wanted to see him again. Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Maybe what Meara thought had been obnoxious had actually been cute. _Unlikely_ , he thought. But Josselin’s note… and the other man had bought him lunch and sent him tea! That was good, right?

Meara sighed and covered his face.

“I wish I weren’t so bad at this dating thing,” he muttered. He never knew what to do.

Something jostled the glass and shells in the window and a familiar tingle shot up Meara’s spine. The Sea Hag was nearby.

“Hello,” he said.

 _Hello._ The voice went straight to his head, skipping his ears. In the beginning, he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining her, but he eventually came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter, because her advice was always right, regardless.

 _Is my child in love?_ she asked.

“I don’t think I’d say that. ‘Has a crush,’ maybe.”

Laughter, soft and dim like the last edges of a wave on curling up on the sand. The tingle on his scalp that meant her hands were in his messy hair. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“What should I do?” he asked.

_You know what to do._

He sighed again. “I guess. I just wanted you to tell me.”

_I’m not taking the responsibility of that decision away from you._

Meara stuck his tongue out at the ceiling. The Sea Hag laughed in her breathy, salty voice. He sat and her energy slowly faded away, wafting around the room and playing in the shells and sea glass like the incense smoke curling out of the shell full of sand he used as a holder.

He stood, glancing down at Josselin’s canvas bag, which he’d dropped beside his bedside table. He’d have to remember to wash the thermos before he gave it back tomorrow. Or the next day. He was a little afraid to face him, even though he knew he should. He pulled a small wooden box out of the top drawer of the dresser he used for materials for his fairy work, opening it up and pulling a deck of Tarot cards out of a small canvas bag.

“All right, guys,” he mumbled. “Maybe you can make it a little clearer than she did. What’s going on with this whole Josselin situation?” He sat cross-legged on the bed, shuffled a few times until he felt right, cut the deck, and drew three cards.

The Tower, the Two of Swords, and the Two of Cups.

“The Tower?” he asked. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? I know I made an idiot of myself, but it wasn’t _that_ bad, right?”

The cards, of course, were silent.

He looked at the Two of Swords next. If he were to have any card drawn after the Tower, he’d choose that one -- it meant things were moving on. Things were okay. So he made a moron of himself, but it was past. Josselin probably didn’t care and maybe didn’t even remember.

Meara licked his lips and turned to the third card. The Two of Cups. Two lovers, embracing, each holding a golden chalice. A new romance, a new relationship, a new friendship. A new _something_. With Josselin? He’d been who Meara was thinking of when he drew the spread. But he knew cards only showed possibilities, and he couldn’t just wait for something to happen if he wanted it to turn out that way. He sighed and tinkling laughter rustled through the glass and shells.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Josselin slowly dragged himself up the stairs, heavy feet clunking with each step. His day had been completely packed with clients and his shoulders and neck ached like they hadn’t in months. It was 10:30 now and the shop was closed. Christian, Dante, and Sara had all gone home and the front door was locked, leaving Josselin in the big, empty building alone with Familiar, who was waiting for him when he opened the apartment door. He smiled when she rubbed up against his ankles.

“I’m glad you’re not a runner,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “I’d never be able to catch you like this.”

She meowed and trotted into the kitchen to her food bowl. Josselin followed, where he made himself a cup of willow bark tea.

Why hadn’t Meara stopped by the shop after he closed up? Josselin wouldn’t miss the bag or the thermos overnight, and he could always pop over when he had a break tomorrow to pick them up. He wasn’t concerned about that. But Meara had been so quiet that morning. Josselin had hoped that buying him lunch would help him realize that whatever he was worried about wasn’t actually a problem -- Josselin didn’t even know what it was! -- but as the day had gotten later and later and Meara didn’t show, Josselin started to worry that maybe he’d been too forward with his note. He sighed and kicked off his shoes by the couch before he sat down with his mug. He looked over toward the small shrine under the clock, the one specifically for his mother. His workspace was in his bedroom where he could keep it private from guests.

“What do I do, Mom?” he asked. She was silent. She hadn’t been talking back as much recently. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d said anything at all. He was starting to think her spirit had found another vessel and finally reincarnated. Some people got an instant turnaround, but his mom had apparently been put on a waiting list. He knew, though, that even if she had been, some essence of her was still around. He could feel it in the incense smoke every now and then.

“I really like him,” Josselin said. “He’s really sweet, and he’s adorable! You’d like him, too. I think you’d approve of my choice this time. I know there were a few in the past you wouldn’t have liked.” He chuckled and put his tea down, stretching out his shoulders as he stood. He usually only lit incense in the morning, but if he was going to have a conversation with her, it was only polite to light her a stick. He did, blowing out the flame and waving out the match, dropping it in the bowl of used matchsticks he was saving to burn properly to make some protective black salt with in the future. He was just waiting until he had enough pieces to make the fire worth it.

The warm, comforting scent of frankincense and myrrh started to fill the room and Josselin sat back down with his tea. Occasionally, the streetlight in the alleyway caught one of the mirrors or pieces of colored glass hanging from his window, shooting a flash of color across the room.

“I think I scared him off, though,” he sighed. “I’m not sure what I did. I asked him to stop by tonight and he didn’t. Maybe he still just felt crappy. But I don’t know.” He took a sip of his tea and sat in silence. Familiar hopped up on the couch beside him, dropping her pink sparkle ball on his leg. He picked it up and turned it in his fingers, but didn’t throw it. She mewed and headbutted his knuckles.

“I wish you were still here,” he whispered. “I know you can hear me, but I miss hearing you talk back. And I could really use one of your world-famous squish hugs right now.”

He finally threw the ball and Familiar darted after it, batting it around the room and down the hallway. There was a soft tinkling as she trotted back into the room. Josselin looked up. In her little mouth was his mom’s silver necklace, the one his tattoo had been based on. She dropped it on his knee.

“How did you get to this?” Josselin asked. He picked it up and curled his fingers around it. “This was hanging up way too high for you to reach.”

She meowed. Josselin smiled.

“I think Meara was right,” he said. “You probably are a fairy, aren’t you?”

Familiar simply headbutted his wrist in response.

* * *

 

Meara wanted to do something for Josselin, since the other man had bought him lunch, but he didn’t know much about Josselin’s wants or needs and had no idea where to start even thinking about a gift. Eventually Meara decided that, since he was crouched over in that chair all day, Josselin must get shoulder and neck cramps sometimes, so he’d make him some salves for massaging into sore muscles. One warming, one cooling.

He had a few cooling muscle relaxing salves left from his last batch, so he put one of the tins in the canvas bag with the now clean thermos so he wouldn’t forget it. Stacey’s client had come and gone and it was too late for him to host anymore, so Meara had all night. Which was good, because this was going to take almost four hours, not including setting time. It was already 10:00 and he was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but if Josselin liked it as much as Meara hoped he would, it would be worth it.

He quietly got his pots and pans together so he wouldn’t wake his sleeping roommates. Their door was closed, as it always was when they slept, but sound carried. Stacey wasn’t a worry -- he couldn’t hear it anyway -- but Adam, while usually good natured, could be cranky if he was woken up in the middle of the night. Meara spent the next three and a half hours steeping oils and melting and mixing and melting and mixing, and finally, at about 1:30, everything was done and it just needed to set. He poured the salve into ten small tins and put the lids behind them, leaving them on the counter uncapped to firm up.

He didn’t even change out of his jeans. He just pulled off his shirt, dropped it on the floor, and crashed into his bed. He was asleep the moment he hit the pillows.

The next morning, Meara woke early so he could label the new tins. On all but one he simply scrawled “warming” on the labels, but on Josselin’s he took a little more time, handwriting out “Warming salve for muscle aches,” and the ingredients. He also made a new label for Josselin’s cooling salve with the same and carefully laid it over the original sticker, lining up the edges so the bottom one wouldn’t show. He made a pot of coffee and kept the warmer on for Stacey and Adam, who both started work later than him and were still asleep. And then, with Josselin’s canvas bag over his shoulder and his to-go coffee mug in his hand, he rushed out the door to the bus stop.

* * *

 

Meara felt much better unlocking his shop door that morning, with clean clothes and a shower and a distinct lack of a hangover. Josselin’s shop wouldn’t be opening for another hour, and while this was a good neighborhood, it wasn’t the kind of place where you could leave something on someone’s front door and expect it to still be there in an hour, so Meara brought the canvas bag in with him and put it underneath his counter.

The minutes passed, and then it had been an hour. Sara walked by his front door but didn’t look in, rushing past too fast to spare him a glance. Now that he recognized her, he realized he’d seen her come by the door on her way to the tattoo parlor almost every morning.

He could have easily flipped the sign in his door from open to closed for just a few minutes so he could run over. He wouldn’t lose any customers in that time. But every time he reached underneath the counter to grab Josselin’s bag, his nerves failed him, and he left it where it was and found some kind of busywork to do: sweeping, wiping the counter, checking the plants’ water level for the third or fourth or fifth time.

Josselin had asked explicitly if they could see each other again. So why was he so scared?

* * *

 

“Hey, darling?”

“What do you want, Josselin?”

Josselin laughed and Sara smirked. “I know you,” she said. “You have never called me a pet name when you didn’t want something from me. What’s up?”

“Would you mind running over next door and picking up my bag for me? Meara never brought it back yesterday.”

“Get it yourself,” Sara said. “You don’t have a client right now. It’ll take you two minutes.”

Josselin’s smile turned down into a frown. “I don’t think he wants to see me,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s that,” Sara said. “You told me what happened the other night, how he got drunk and everything. I think he’s embarrassed. And I think if you send me over he’ll think you don’t want to see him.”

“I think you just don’t want to go over.”

“That, too. But I mean it, Josselin,” Sara said. “Take two minutes.” She turned back toward the other two artists. Christian was working on a client while Dante fiddled with his phone.

“You don’t have an appointment for another half hour. If a walk-in comes, Dante can take them. As long as they don’t want watercolor, he can do everything else you can do.”

Josselin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. It spasmed slightly and he flinched. If he didn’t get this taken care of soon, a migraine would be on its way.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m going.”

* * *

 

It had been a slow day for Meara. Thursdays always were, unless there was a wedding or a funeral. He just finished reorganizing the fairy gardens and adding a few extra figurines here and there when the door bell rang. He brushed the dirt off his fingers on his apron and turned to see Josselin walking in.

“Oh!” Meara said, a little stupidly.

“Hey,” Josselin smiled.

“Um, hi. Hi.” Meara chuckled nervously. “I, uh, I have your bag. And I brought you some things to thank you for lunch.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Josselin followed him to the counter, stopping at the front while Meara went around.

“I know. But I wanted to. They’re in here.” He dug the two tins out of the canvas bag and showed them to Josselin. “They’re for your shoulders and neck. I figure they get pretty cramped up with you having to crouch over so much, so I brought you some warming and cooling muscle relaxing salves. You’ll want to wear gloves when you use the warming one, and wash your hands before you touch your face. There’s cayenne in it.”

Josselin took the two tins, one in each hand, looking over the labels. The cooling one was blue and purple, the warming one yellow, both with the ingredients listed. In case he had allergies? He didn’t, but the thought was sweet.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “That’s really thoughtful. These are going to be great.” He looked up into Meara’s bright green eyes. “You got these to me just in time. My shoulders are cramping up something fierce today.”

Meara’s bottom lip pursed out. “My roommate’s a massage therapist,” he said. “He works at a sports club but he takes private clients for Reiki healings and chakra cleanings, so I don’t think he’d have an issue taking you on during an off time if you can’t schedule it any other time. Just throwing that out there. Do you ever take time off?”

“Mondays,” Josselin said. “Everyone else is in the shop but me.”

Meara’s eyes widened and he put his hand over his chest. “I’m closed on Mondays so I don’t kill myself working seven days a week.”

“I know,” Josselin laughed.

“I guess I never did, because I’m not here to see _you_ not be here. I can’t believe I’ve been here a whole year and didn’t…” Meara trailed off, unsure of where he was going. _Know your schedule?_ That sounded creepy.

“What did you think of my note?”

Meara looked up. Josselin’s eyes were a little wider than usual in the bright light of the shop, and while Meara couldn’t see his teeth, he could see the indent on the Josselin’s lip where he was biting down.

“I thought it was really sweet,” Meara whispered. “Thank you for buying me lunch.”

Josselin smiled nervously and shrugged his left shoulder. “You hadn’t eaten breakfast and I just wanted to be sure you were okay. I hope you like what we got for you?”

“It was delicious, thanks.”

“And the tea?”

“It helped. I washed both your thermos and the coffee mug you loaned me. They’re in here.” Meara finally handed over the canvas bag. Josselin took it and put the two tins in, then slung it over his shoulder.

“I have to get back to my shop,” he said, “but I wanted to ask, since you never gave me an answer: do you want to get together again soon? Maybe lunch on Monday?” He grinned playfully and added, “No alcohol this time.”

Meara’s fair skin turned bright pink and he curled his fingers into his cheek as if to hide his blush. “I think that’s wise,” he said. “Have you been to that vegan pizza place a few streets over? They can actually get their cheese to melt. It’s amazing.”

Josselin shook his head. “At noon?” he said.

“Okay.”

“Meet you there?”

“Sure.” Meara grinned and Josselin smiled back. The older man reached across the counter, hesitated, then gently, awkwardly patted Meara’s shoulder.

“I’ll see you in the meantime, I’m sure,” he said. “If you ever have a long day you’re welcome to my couch for a nap before you make your way home.”

Meara smiled. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

The next morning, there was a small bunch of wildflowers waiting on the tattoo parlor’s doorstep. Sara, always the first to arrive from the outside, brought them in. Josselin was already downstairs with a mug of coffee, turning on all the lights.

“Oh, Josselin,” she sing-songed. Josselin looked up from the power strip beneath his desk after he flipped it on.

“Hm?”

She twirled the tiny bouquet in her fingers. “Someone left you something at the door.”

Josselin took it, turning it in his fingers. There were a handful of bright orange flowers with a few smaller white ones. He smelled them. They were a little heavy, but still bright and floral, like his favorite park on a humid summer afternoon.

“I’m going to run upstairs and get some water for these,” he said. He turned to Sara, who was wearing the smuggest smile he’d ever seen. “If anyone comes in, tell them I’ll be back in less than five.”

“Not this early,” Sara said. “Honestly, I think you could open even an hour later and just reserve this one for appointments. Save some money on power.”

“We’ll look at the budget again on the first and see where that would put us,” Josselin said. But he trusted her, and they’d probably follow her suggestion. She had such a strong attention to detail. It had been one of the reasons he’d hired her in the first place.

He brought back down a small, narrow mason jar half-full of water to put the flowers in and placed it at the far corner of his desk where he wouldn’t accidentally knock it over.

In between every client and every few minutes when he didn’t have one, Josselin glanced over at the flowers, and he smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed uneventfully. Finally, Monday came, and Meara was able to sleep in a little, even though it was only an extra half hour. Stacey had Mondays off, too, and Adam worked afternoons most days, so the three of them had breakfast together in the living room, kneeled and sitting on the floor around the coffee table. Homemade vegan biscuits and gravy and a huge bowl of fresh fruit; strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, peaches, pears. Since they lived right next door to the desert, it was almost always warm enough to grow a lot of fruit year round, but where Meara had grown up in the Midwest, he’d gotten used to only having it in the summer, and gorging himself on it was a habit that he’d never been able to shake.

The three of them ate with their weak hands and signed with their dominant ones, clumsy and awkward except for Stacey, who’d been signing since infancy. Every now and then, Adam, almost a foot taller than his boyfriend, would kiss Stacey on the top of the head. Stacey beamed every time, like a pleased cat.

_So, Meara, are you nervous? You haven’t been on a date in ages._

_Not since high school, really,_ Meara signed. Adam was hearing, but they always signed their conversations around Stacey so he wouldn’t have to stress about missing a mouth movement while he was lip reading.

 _I’ve been too busy to bother_ , he said.

 _I think it’ll be good for you,_ Stacey signed. _All you do anymore is work._

 _I can’t afford to hire an assistant,_ Meara replied. _So unless you want to come in and help me…?_

_I’ll pass. I have my own work to do._

_That’s what I thought._ Meara scooped another spoonful of fruit onto his plate and started picking out the strawberries. His favorite. He always saved them for last.

The three friends shared breakfast and conversation for hours and continued to talk long after the food was gone. They talked about work and personal projects and people they’d met coming through their workplaces. Stacey shared stories of interesting clients and Adam told them about the people who came through the candle shop where he worked. The taller man always smelled of it, even after a day off -- vanilla and ocean and sugar-crusted berries in the summer, pine trees and campfires and apples in the winter, flowers and fallen leaves in between.

From the corner of his eye, Meara saw a rustle in the jasmine tendrils on the windowsill. There had been a lot of activity in those flowers the past week or so. He stood, stacking up the dishes and dropping them in the sink -- he’d put them up, but it was Adam’s turn to wash -- before heading into his bedroom. He pulled a green and brown box out of his drawer and opened it up. Inside were dozens of little bags full of small crystal chips and shards. He dug through until he found some clear quartz points and curled his fingers around two of them as he closed the box and put it back in his drawer. He brought them to his mouth, humming tunelessly, letting his white breath circle the stone and imbue it with his well-wishes.

He stuck one in the jasmine’s soil on his way out the door, an offering for the fae who had so clearly taken an interest in the sweet-smelling plant. He pocketed the other.

“I’m on my way out!” he called. “Tell Stacey I said ‘bye!’”

“Okay!” Adam called back. His voice was deeper and huskier than his round, childish face hinted at, and Meara was so used to only seeing him sign that sometimes it still came as a shock.

It was still early, but Meara wanted to stop by his shop for a few minutes to check on the water levels of his plants before he made his way over to the restaurant. The tinkling bell announced his presence to the plants and the various little brownies and pixies who had made a home of his store. They generally stayed in the back or hidden in the plants, away from customers, but when he was closed, they came out in droves.

The broom had been left propped up against the counter, and Meara knew for a fact that he’d put it away in the closet last night. He must have missed some dirt somewhere that the brownies cleaned up for him. He knew better than to say ‘thank you’ -- that could mean he owed them -- but he called out, “That was very nice of you,” instead. A shadow darted across the floor and over his foot, and he knew they had heard.

He pulled a sugar packet out of his pocket -- there was always one there when he needed it -- and ripped it open, leaving it on the counter propped up against the cash register as he checked the water level of his plants. Most of them were good, only some of the herbs and a few of the flowers needed watering. He ducked into the back to check his calendar. It would be a full moon tonight. That meant it was time to feed the flowers, too, so he stuck a food stick into the soil of each one along with just a little bit of water to help soften it.

He glanced up at the clock behind the counter -- 11:15. It would only take about ten minutes to walk to the restaurant from here, and he didn’t want to get there too early, so he spent a little extra time cleaning and then went into the back where his workspace was, where he kept a small shrine for the local fae. He dusted down the top of the little table and rearranged a few things, then poured the sugar packet from earlier into a small bowl filled with more sugar. There were two tiny handprints in it. They liked it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered. The windchime hanging above him tinkled in the still air. He lit a green tea-light and took the crystal out of his pocket, arranging it with some other crystals and dried flowers and herbs on the white offering plate. He switched it with the small mug of water, then switched it back.

“It’s better there,” he murmured.

He let the tea-light burn for a few minutes before snuffing it out and making his way out of the shop. He locked the door behind him.

“Are you open?”

He jumped and turned to his left, where a young woman was peering in the window.

“No, sorry,” he said. “I’m closed today. I don’t even have a bank in my register so I wouldn’t be able to give you change, even if I did open.”

“Do you take credit cards?”

“I --“

“Please,” the young woman begged. “It’s an emergency. You’re the only flower shop nearby. My grandma just went into a nursing home and the place is so dull, I just wanted --”

Meara sighed, but he smiled. “Okay,” he said. He unlocked the door again, but left the sign on ‘closed.’

“But please don’t tell anyone. I can’t make a habit of this. I’m only here for twenty minutes or so on Mondays, and never at the same time.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the young woman said. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

The shadows and sparkles of the brownies and pixies scattered back into the corners when she stepped inside. The woman rushed around the shop, peering at the different flowering potted plants, and eventually decided on a small, blue delphinium.

“Would you like a wrapper for the pot?” Meara asked. “I have some different colored foils and ribbons.”

“If you have green? That’s her favorite color.”

“Sure,” Meara smiled. He wrapped up the pot and rang her up, swiping her credit card and stuffing his copy of the receipt in the register. He’d just add it on top of his sales for tomorrow. Then he unlocked the door for her and ushered her out as she continued to thank him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Really.”

He locked the door behind her and she darted down the street, probably to a parked car whose meter hadn’t been paid, or maybe a bus stop. Meara shut down the register and, on his way out, his eye caught on a few of the herbs on one of the shelves adjacent to the tattoo parlor.

“Hm.” He bit his lip and his eyes darted over the plants. That catnip was getting a little too bushy. He’d trim it back and give the leaves to Josselin to give to Familiar.

He wrapped the leaves up in a tiny zip bag, not worrying about whether or not they got crushed when he slipped it in his pocket. Finally, he made his way over to the restaurant, and arrived at 12:04 exactly.

Josselin was already there. He was sitting at a small, two person booth in the corner, peering over a menu. Another sat on the table at the empty seat across from him. Meara slid in and smiled, and said, a little breathlessly,

“Sorry I’m a little late. I was at my shop watering the plants and a woman showed up insisting she had a flower emergency, so I went ahead and let her buy something.”

“Are you okay?” Josselin asked. “You sound a little short of breath.”

Meara nodded. “I speedwalked here. I didn’t want to be even later. I’m just a little out of shape, that’s all.” He took a sip of the water Josselin had ordered for him and breathed in slowly through his nose, then let it out through his mouth.

Josselin smiled. “That’s okay. But next time, if it’s just a few minutes, don’t worry about it, okay?”

Meara smiled back. He leaned to the side so he could pull the little bag out of his back pocket. “Here,” he said, handing it over. Josselin took it, turning it in his fingers. His brow furrowed. He opened the bag and smelled it. The familiar minty scent was sharp in his nose.

“Is this fresh catnip?”

Meara grinned. “Yeah. My plants needed trimming and I thought Familiar might like it. I can start bringing the trimmings over, if you’d like.”

“Thank you! She’ll love it.”

Meara looked up when the front door opened again. Gabriel and Jussi walked in, hand in hand, heads ducked low into each other as they talked and giggled with each other like teenagers. Meara turned back to Josselin, who had his finger to his lips.

“Maybe they won’t notice us,” he whispered.

“Why would it matter if --”

“Josselin!” Gabriel’s voice lilted through the café in a bright shout and he waved as he approached their table. “I won’t take much of your time, chou, I see you’re busy,” he said. He leaned down and air-kissed each of Josselin’s cheeks. He turned to the other man.

“It’s Meara, right?” he asked.

Meara nodded.

“Ah, cher, we love the plants!” Gabriel said. He air-kissed each of Meara’s cheeks, too. “They’re lovely! I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Come on, Gabriel.” Jussi’s gravelly voice interrupted the French man’s lilting one. “Let’s leave them alone.”

“But --”

“Let’s leave them alone, love,” Jussi repeated. Gabriel waved his fingers at the two as Jussi led him off to a table somewhere out of sight and mouthed over his shoulder, _Sorry_.

Josselin shook his head and waved the apology away.

“Sorry, Meara,” he said. Meara looked up from the fork he was playing with and smiled. He shook his head.

“Is he always like that?”

“With anyone he has a passing familiarity with,” Josselin said. “You talk to him once and he thinks you’re his new best friend. He’s sweet, but he can be a little overbearing until you get used to him.”

Josselin looked down, picking at the peeling corner of the laminate on the menu. “I’ve been --”

A short, chubby middle aged woman approached their table, and with a bright smile, she said, “Hey there! Have you decided?”

Josselin looked up at Meara again and said, “I was looking at the cheese and seitan sausage?”

“With onions and mushrooms?”

“That’s fine.”

Meara nodded. Josselin turned his gaze to the server and placed their order for a large pizza to split. He’d send any leftovers home with Meara.

“So, what were you saying?” Meara asked. Josselin turned back again.

“Hm?”

“You started saying something when the waitress interrupted us.”

Josselin paused. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah. I was just saying, I’ve been getting the flowers you leave. They’re beautiful. We keep them around the tattoo shop in mason jars. Our clients love it. It especially makes first timers a little less nervous. It makes them feel more at home, I guess.”

Meara grinned. All that because of a couple of mini bouquets of daisies and carnations? He knew flowers were powerful, but it still made him happy to hear.

“I’m glad,” he said.

Josselin smiled.

“Really,” Meara emphasized. “That really makes me happy to hear. I’m glad you like them. They’re for you, you know.”

Josselin’s smile faded slightly. “Is it okay that I share them in the tattoo parlor?”

“Of course!” Meara waved his hand in front of his face. “That’s not what I meant. You can do whatever you want with them. I just wanted to be sure you knew.”

Josselin’s smile returned. “I’d guessed. Sara was pretty insistent that they weren’t for her.”

Meara curled his fingers around his cup as Josselin took a sip from his straw. The younger man looked down into the ice cubes floating at the top of the water, watching them shift as they slowly melted.

“Hey, Josselin?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something? About your mom?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Meara looked up. Josselin’s heart-shaped face was open and bright. He didn’t seem to have any reservations. He looked _excited_ to talk about her. That was a good sign.

“You said she died ten years ago, when you were fourteen,” Meara said, which he only just realized aged Josselin at twenty-four, three years older than him.

“Yes.”

“So… what did you do until you were eighteen? Who did you stay with? And why wouldn’t they let you continue to study Wicca?”

Josselin propped his chin up on his hand, elbow on the table. “It’s not that she wouldn’t _let_ me,” he said. “I moved in with a friend of my mom’s, Missy, who lived in New Mexico, and I couldn’t find anywhere reputable to study. I’d been studying at a church here with my mom, the one she was a member of, but I couldn’t find any up to par out there. Missy’s a tattoo artist. I’d been thinking of going into comics until I moved in with her. My mom wanted me homeschooled but Missy worked full time so I spent most of my study time in the tattoo parlor with her, and that’s where I learned most of my basics. She wanted me to go to school so I could learn the technical aspects of it since legally I couldn’t touch a tattoo gun until I was eighteen. So I never actually tattooed someone until my first term, back here in San Francisco. I moved back on my eighteenth birthday. I love Missy, but this is home, you know?”

“I do,” Meara smiled. “My family moved to Atherton when I was ten, but any time I came out here I was like, yes, this is where I’m supposed to be. Sometimes with a city, you just know.”

* * *

 

The cheese on the pizza was melty and gooey and delicious, just like dairy cheese, just as Meara had promised.

“They won’t tell me what kind of cheese they use,” Meara huffed. “I can never get vegan cheese to melt like this. I’ve gotten it sort of melty, but nothing close to what they can do.”

“They probably have their own recipe,” Josselin said. “Otherwise I think they’d have to advertise the brand on the menu.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know,” Josselin laughed. “I _think_ so? I’m sure they use a pizza oven, too, and those get really hot.”

Meara took the last piece from the pan and sliced it in half, handing one piece over to Josselin. Josselin took it with a smile and a ‘thank you.’

When they’d finished, they sat talking for a few minutes after, but people were starting to filter in and the waitress was going to need her table back. So they paid and left the restaurant, pausing at the front window. Jussi and Gabriel were sitting just on the other side. Josselin tapped the window and Jussi looked up, brushing his chin-length blond hair out of his blue eyes. He’d stopped dyeing it black since Josselin had last seen him a few months back. Jussi grinned and waved, and Gabriel looked up and waved, too, ice blue eyes sparkling. Josselin and Meara grinned and waved back, then went on their way.

They walked side by side on the narrow sidewalk, pushed up against each other so Meara wouldn’t get knocked out into the street. When Josselin linked their elbows, it felt like it had always been that way.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, to nowhere in particular. Josselin finally broke it when he said, “Can I show you something?”

Meara turned to him. “Yeah.”

“This way.”

Josselin led him up the steep incline of the sidewalk. Every now and then, when the buildings lined up just right, they could peek through and see the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Seagulls called overhead and pigeons bounced around the sidewalk, in and out of the alleyways between the colorful buildings.

Eventually they reached a small Catholic Church. It was off hours, so only tourists were around, but Josselin led Meara inside.

“What are --?”

Josselin put his finger to his lips. Meara dropped his voice.

“Why did you bring me to a Church?”

“I’m bringing you to the gardens,” Josselin said. “This way.”

He led Meara out an unassuming side door into a small garden. There were flowers and trees everywhere, with a stone circle in the center with a mediation labyrinth painted on. The two men sat down on the edge of one of the planters, facing the bay. They could just see the top of the skyline from where they sat.

 _I like this place._ The familiar voice passed by Meara’s ears and went straight into his head.

“Me, too,” he whispered. Josselin looked over from the labyrinth.

“Hm?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Meara mumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. “I was just… nothing.”

_Are you embarrassed by me?_

_No!_ Meara only thought it back this time. Hopefully she would understand. He’d never attempted to communicate like this before. _Other people just don’t understand. I don’t want them to say bad things about you._

_Do you really think this one would?_

The flowers rustled in the salty breeze, but a few of the plants leaned in the wrong direction. Josselin’s eye caught it and he smiled.

“They follow you around, don’t they?” he asked.

“What?”

“The fae. They follow you.”

“Some of them, sometimes,” Meara said. “The ones who want to be noticed. I make a point to leave the ones that don’t alone.” He swallowed nervously, then continued, “That’s who I was talking to. One of… one of them. She said she likes it here.”

“I do, too,” Josselin said. When Meara finally looked at him again, Josselin was looking through the trees and out at the bay, smiling.

 _See_? Her laughter was like glass tinkling in the breeze.

“I would have liked to show you the garden at my church,” Josselin suddenly said. His eyes were trained on the bay. “But it’s closed to outsiders unless they’re students, or for weddings and funerals and things.”

“It’s okay,” Meara said. His eyes were still on Josselin’s profile, his sharp nose, his silver wire glasses, the soft curve of the smile he held in the corner of his mouth. There was a tingling pressure at the base of his head, as if something was trying to push him forward. He stopped fighting. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to Josselin’s cheek. It was warm and damp in the salty, humid air. His skin smelled like incense charcoal and ink.

Josselin turned into Meara as the younger man pulled away, resting his hand on top of Meara’s fingers. Meara stilled.

When Josselin kissed him, it was slow and tender as they felt each other out, fingers curled into each other’s as they shared tiny, hesitant kisses on cheeks and corners of mouths.

“I really like you,” Josselin finally whispered. His lips brushed Meara’s with every word. It was so sweet and intimate, Meara almost felt like he could faint. His fingers tingled and he pressed them harder into Josselin’s palm.

“I really like you, too,” Meara whispered back. He lowered his eyes, too nervous to meet Josselin’s gaze, even though the older man had just said the same thing.

The side door opened and a couple came out with a small child. Meara leaned away. A Catholic Church probably wasn’t the best place for this, even if it was in San Francisco. It was inappropriate in any place of worship, really. Wasn’t it?

 _Why would love be inappropriate in a place of worship? Marriages take place here. That’s the ultimate expression of love._ The Sea Hag’s voice was simultaneously gentle and jagged, like warm salt water and sea rocks.

 _I don’t love him._ That was one thing he was _not_ going to share out loud. _I just care about him a lot. It’s different. You of all people should know that._

She just laughed again.

“Is someone talking to you?” Josselin’s voice was gentle, hesitant. Meara realized he was staring blankly out at the bay, and he turned back to the other man.

“Yeah,” he said. “It can get distracting. But she talks when she wants to talk and I’m nobody to tell her to stop.”

Josselin smiled, soft and crooked, just the bare lift of the corner of his mouth. “I could tell. You get this look on your face. Kind of faraway, like you’re concentrating on something deep inside your head.”

“That’s where I hear them,” Meara said. He shifted uncomfortably and pressed his knees together.

“Are you okay?”

“Most people just don’t have much of an interest in it outside of my roommates, that’s all. I don’t talk about it much.”

“Well,” Josselin said. He smiled and curled his arm tentatively around Meara’s shoulders. He relaxed when the shorter man leaned into him. “I’d like to hear anything you have to say.”

Meara closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.” But it was so soft, Josselin didn’t hear.


	7. Chapter 7

They sat together in the Church’s garden for a while, then at Josselin’s suggestion, decided to go back to his apartment. At Meara’s, they decided to stop for cupcakes at the bakery on the way.

They got chocolate peanut butter and vanilla caramel and Meara got a couple of brownies to take home for Stacey and Adam. When they got up the stairs, Familiar was waiting for them at the door. She rubbed up against Josselin’s leg and he handed the cupcakes to Meara so he could pick her up and prop her on his shoulder. He nuzzled her just below her ear, and Meara smiled and closed the door behind them.

They settled on the couch and Familiar got a little too curious and put her nose in Josselin’s peanut butter frosting when he wasn’t looking. But he laughed and scooped another bit off with his finger for her, and she licked it off bit by bit, purring. Josselin looked back at Meara while Familiar feasted.

“Thanks for coming out with me today,” he said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me, too,” Meara grinned. “Um, if it’s not too forward, I’d like to invite you to dinner sometime soon to meet my roommates? Maybe next Monday? I know you usually work late the rest of the time.”

Familiar’s sandpaper tongue scraped the rest of the frosting off Josselin’s finger and he wiped his hand on his pants. He smiled. “I’d like that.”

Meara smiled back and took a bite of his cupcake. He sniffled at the tickle on his nose, and turned back toward Josselin when he laughed.

“What?”

“You have frosting on your nose,” he said. He wiped the tip of Meara’s nose with his thumb. He looked around for something to wipe it on, but all he had was another cupcake, so he stuck it in his mouth. Meara laughed. Josselin still had some on the corner of his mouth.

“You missed,” he said. And without thinking, he leaned closer and kissed it away. Josselin’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows up high when he pulled away. Meara moved back, hesitantly.

“Was that okay?” he asked. He managed to keep his voice from shaking.

“Yeah.” Josselin smiled. “It just surprised me.”

He kissed Meara back.

Within minutes, Meara was lying on the couch with Josselin on top of him, half-eaten cupcakes left on the coffee table in their wrappers, forgotten. Meara curled his hands in Josselin’s long black hair as Josselin balanced one elbow on the couch, the other hand gentle on Meara’s side. Meara kissed from Josselin’s mouth to his ear, down to the sunflower on his neck. Josselin’s breath hitched and he pressed closer. He hummed softly, happily, and Meara kissed the brightly colored tattoo again.

Josselin’s thin fingers were warm through the fabric of his shirt, his sharp elbow tight in Meara’s side so he wouldn’t slip off the narrow couch, but the pressure was pleasant, comfortable. Meara nipped at his neck and his fingers curled, gripping tightly to his shirt. It bunched up and the heel of Josselin’s hand brushed Meara’s stomach. The muscles jumped and his breath caught.

“You okay?” Josselin’s whisper brushed against Meara’s ear, hot and damp, like his tongue.

“Yeah,” Meara whispered. “I haven’t dated since high school. I just have to get used to it again.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Meara shivered. Josselin’s breath still whispered hot against his ear, and it had always been one of his weakest points. But this was only their second date and everything was going so fast and --

Josselin crawled off of Meara and sat up near his feet. Meara followed suit, leaning his head against Josselin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I just --”

“Don’t,” Josselin whispered back. He kissed the top of Meara’s head. He smelled like lemon and coconut. “Don’t ever be sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” Meara whispered. And then,

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

They sat in quiet for a while. They tended to do that a lot. Occasionally one of Josselin’s windchimes would shift and ring despite the fact that his windows were closed, and Meara knew that some of the fae had followed him here from the garden. Josselin smiled softly every time it happened, which was a relief. Meara would hate for Josselin to be worried or scared.

“Does it bother you that we sit in silence so much?” Meara finally asked.

Josselin shook his head. His hand tightened on Meara’s shoulder and Meara snuggled closer with a soft, happy sigh.

“I’ve just noticed we tend to do that a lot.”

“There were stretches of road where Mom and I wouldn’t talk for hours,” Josselin said. “She’d just drive and I’d just look out the window, watching cities and farms and deserts pass by. It’s okay to not want to talk all the time. After all the noise all day in the tattoo shop, it’s nice to just sit with you.” He chuckled and turned away from the window. “I get a lot of nervous talkers, and Gabriel always stops by the days he picks up Jussi from the coffee shop. There’s a lot of stuff going on.”

Meara looked up and smiled. Without another word, he leaned his head back on Josselin’s shoulder, cuddling in close to his side.

“Is there a reason you like the quiet?” Josselin asked.

“It’s not so much that I like the quiet,” Meara murmured. “It’s that most people don’t care about what I have to say, so I never know what to say anymore, so sometimes it’s easier to just not say anything.”

Josselin’s mouth turned down. Meara was so sweet, so smart, so in touch with everything around him. Who had said they didn’t care? Josselin wasn’t a violent person, but he wouldn’t mind throwing a hex at whoever had done whatever they did to make someone so kind feel that way about himself. Not necessarily anything dangerous, maybe just something annoying. _May the wings on your eyeliner always be uneven._

“I want to hear what you have to say,” Josselin said.

Meara hummed noncommittally and wormed closer, nearly crawling into Josselin’s narrow lap. Their legs pressed tightly together and Meara’s head slipped from Josselin’s shoulder to the crook underneath it. Josselin wrapped his arm tighter around Meara’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. It was so comfortable, like it had always been that way, like it was supposed to be that way. Did Meara feel the same?

They spent the next few hours watching movies and finishing the half-dozen cupcakes they’d bought, and suddenly, it was 8:00 and the sun was going down.

“Do you want some real food?” Josselin asked. “Like, dinner? All I have is frozen stuff, but Jussi’s is open for another hour.”

Meara pursed his lips in thought. “You know, I’m not hungry, but I should eat something small that’s not packed with sugar or I am going to get a headache later.”

“Jussi’s, then?” Josselin asked. “They have sandwiches. And vegan quiche and flatbread.”

“Yeah,” Meara said. “All right.”

Traffic was slow, so they darted across the street instead of walking to the light. It was the last hour the store was open, and the slowest, so most of the employees had gone home, leaving Jussi and Gabriel to run the place on their own. Jussi was behind the cash register while Gabriel, presumably, was in the back working on inventory or billing or some other paperwork.

“Hey, guys,” Jussi grinned. He waved as they walked in. They both waved back. “Still on your date?”

“I guess so,” Meara grinned. Josselin glanced over at him and smiled to himself. Until now, neither of them had officially labeled it as one, even though it was obvious to both that was what it was.

“I’m so sorry about Gabriel earlier,” Jussi said. Josselin laughed and shook his head. Jussi rolled his bright blue eyes. “He’s ridiculous. I don’t think he even realized you were on a date. For such a hopeless romantic, he’s really clueless sometimes.” He tucked a stray wisp of hair behind his bandana and said, “What can I get you guys?” Josselin had never seen him in a hat. When it needed to be out of the way, it was always a bandana or a stubby ponytail.

Jussi had good products, but after blending his own teas for so long, Josselin had gotten picky, but he didn’t want the caffeine that would be in a cup of coffee and he didn’t like decaf.

“Strawberry-pomegranate Italian soda?” he finally ordered.

“Are you asking or ordering?” Jussi teased.

“Ordering,” Josselin laughed. “And…” He trailed off and looked from the menu to Meara. “Do you want to split a sandwich? I don’t think I can eat a whole one.”

“That sounds good,” Meara said. “What --”

“Whatever you want,” Josselin said. “I like everything they have here. You pick.” He wanted Meara to know his opinion was important to him. It mattered. He mattered.

“Okay,” Meara said, a little unsurely. Was he afraid he’d pick the wrong thing? “How about a veggie Panini with hummus?”

Josselin smiled and gestured toward Jussi. Meara repeated himself to the older man and he rang that up, too.

“And just a small black drip coffee,” he added.

Jussi finished the order and was about to tell them the total when a rustle came from the little bags of miniature lavender shortbread cookies. Josselin’s eyes darted between them and Jussi. Jussi hadn’t noticed. Maybe the creature that had followed Meara back to his apartment then followed them here and wanted some?

“These, too,” he said, dropping a cellophane bag of cookies on the counter. He’d ask Meara to ask a little later, and if he was wrong, hey, they had cookies. But if it hadn’t been a fairy, it was probably a mouse, and he’d have to warn Jussi to look out for it.

“Sure thing.” Jussi pulled the coffee for Meara, and, as he handed him the cup, he said, “I’ll bring it out to you. Go ahead and sit.”

* * *

 

_I hope he’s planning on sharing those._ The Sea Hag was the only entity that ever spoke to Meara in words, and sometimes she would translate for other fae and creatures around if Meara was being particularly thickheaded. Meara looked up at the bag of cookies. The pale orange ribbon sparkled, but not because of glitter. Something was investigating.

“Somebody is interested in your cookies,” Meara said. There was a ringing, like tiny bells, and he added, “ _Very_ interested.” The cellophane package crinkled under some invisible pressure, like tiny hands were pressing against the bag.

“I guess some of your friends followed me home,” Josselin said. He untied the ribbon and opened the bag.

“I hope you’re planning on sharing or you’re going to have some very upset creatures following you home tonight.”

“That’s why I bought them. I saw something rustle the bags and figured someone was asking for them. I’ll put them out on a plate tonight.” The bag rustled again and something flashed in the dim light of the café, as if against a mirror.

“Well, one of them doesn’t want to wait that long,” Meara chuckled. “Looks like you’re not getting any.”

“That’s okay. I’m sugared out from the cupcakes, anyway.”

“Don’t eat them,” Meara warned. “When you feel like they’re done with them, bury them or throw them away. Never eat food a fairy’s touched.”

Josselin nodded and prodded the bag. It rustled back.

“Are they always so physical?” Josselin asked. “In all my time with all the entities I’ve worked with, I don’t think I’ve seen physical movement from a fairy more than once or twice.”

“The ones that follow me around do it because they like me,” Meara said. “They know me. When I’m out and about and meet ones I don’t know, they’re usually a lot stiller and quieter. I might see a sparkle or shadow where it shouldn’t be, but nothing like this.”

“Do you know this one personally?”

Meara shook his head. “I don’t know anyone’s names, if that’s what you mean. But this one’s been around. I think he’s going home with you, though, unless you offend or banish him.”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt anyone or break anything, he’s welcome,” Josselin said. He looked at the bag and said, “And that includes the cat.” The bag rustled again and Josselin took that as an affirmative. He nodded.

Jussi dropped off their drinks and sandwich but didn’t speak to them, just gave them a smile and a nod and left them to themselves so they could talk without interruption. Josselin was grateful Jussi was a little more socially competent than his boyfriend. Meara was finally calm again after that bout of nerves earlier, and Josselin didn’t want anything to compromise that.

_You have to move slower_ , he told himself. Meara was clearly not as comfortable with physical intimacy as him, and he would respect that, even if it did take weeks, or even months.

Meara waited that next hour for another invitation to spend the night, even though he didn’t have reason to, this time. He wasn’t drunk and the bus was still running, but he hoped Josselin would invite him anyway. He didn’t, and Meara was afraid it would be rude to invite himself. So about fifteen minutes before Jussi had to close up, they went their separate ways, Josselin across the street to his apartment and Meara down to the intersection to catch his bus.

The living room light was on, which meant someone was home. Meara called out a “Hello!” and flicked the light off and back on again. Stacey poked his head out of the room, then frowned.

_You okay?_ Meara asked.

_When I saw the lights, I was just hoping you would be Adam,_ Stacey replied. _He should be home any minute._

_Sorry to disappoint you._

_How could you._ Stacey’s face was flat, but his eyes sparkled with good humor.

The lock clicked behind Meara and Stacey’s smile came back when Adam walked through the door.

_Hey, love,_ he signed in Stacey’s direction. “Hey, Meara.”

_How did your doctor’s appointment before work go?_ Stacey nearly jumped on his boyfriend. The only reason he didn’t take the taller man’s hands was so he could sign back. _Why didn’t you text me?_

_I’m sorry. My phone died. It was good. Platelet count was normal, four years in a row!_

Stacey grinned and Meara clapped Adam’s shoulder. “That’s awesome,” he said. “I’m so happy for you.” He looked down when Stacey nudged his side. _Sorry._ He repeated himself in sign language and Stacey grinned. Adam tugged at his long brown braid.

_That means this gets hacked off soon_ , he signed. He’d mentioned multiple times that at the four year mark, he was going to cut his hair. Like a statement. He was starting over, healthy and well. Meara didn’t know why Adam had chosen four years specifically, whether there was a meaning to it or it was entirely arbitrary. But either way, he and his blood were healthy, and that was all that mattered.

_How was your date?_ Now that Adam had reassured him that he was all right, Stacey was back to his blunt, nosy self.

_Yeah, how did that go?_ Adam asked.

_It was great._ It was an understatement. It was phenomenal. Josselin was so kind, and respectful, and _attractive_ , and so far there was literally nothing not to like. So far. Meara’s eyes darted toward his feet before he looked up at his friends again, eyes shifting between the two of them as he signed. _But it was a long day and I’m exhausted. I know it’s only 9:30, but I think I’m going to bed._

Stacey sighed and crossed his arms, pouting out his lower lip. Finally, he smiled, and said, _All right. But I want details tomorrow._ He pointed at Meara’s door and said, _Your chime has been ringing all day. You might want to do a Tarot spread. I think someone wants to talk to you._

Meara peered over Stacey’s head and twisted to look around the corner to see that he’d left his bedroom door open this morning. The smaller man must have seen them moving.

_Would you do a reading for me?_ Meara asked.

_All right,_ Stacey said. _Tomorrow._ He patted Meara’s elbow and nodded toward his room. _Go get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning._

 

* * *

 

Stacey and Meara both woke up early so Stacey could have time to do a reading. They set up on Meara’s bed, Meara at the head, Stacey at the foot, as he shuffled his Raider-Waite deck. It was a different one from Meara’s, but Stacey preferred it and its simple structure -- the cards were straightforward and easy to read. He stacked the cards and placed them down on the bed.

_Cut the cards,_ he signed. _Three card or Celtic cross?_

_Celtic cross,_ Meara said. _Let’s be thorough._

Stacey smiled. _What’s your question?_

Meara cut the cards. _I don’t have one. Let’s just do a general reading._

_Should I draw the Significator blind, then?_

Meara nodded. Stacey drew a card. His eyebrows shot up, then he nodded. He flipped it around so Meara could see. The Hierophant. _Fitting,_ he signed. He placed it down on the bed and dealt the spread.

Stacey looked over the cards for a few minutes, thinking and analyzing, while Meara sat in silence, patiently waiting. Finally, Stacey snapped to draw his attention. Meara looked up and Stacey began to sign.

_There’s a lot coming up for you,_ Stacey started. _It’s probably going to be overwhelming, since your life has been so uneventful for so long. But you’ll be okay. It’ll be tough, but you’ll make it through._

He started the reading by pointing at the Significator. _The Significator represents you in general. In this case, the Hierophant as a seeker of knowledge and wisdom, someone who gives good advice and counsel but never stops teaching themselves. Good place to start._

Meara chuckled and nodded. That was probably in reference to him asking for the reading, trying to learn more about his situation.

Stacey pointed at the first card. _This is in reference to where you are, right this second, during this reading. Temperance. You’re a little frustrated, a little confused, things are sort of rocky but mostly good. And you’re balanced about it, mostly. You have a good outlook on things, or at least a neutral one. Yeah?_

Meara nodded again. “You could put it like that,” he said. “It wouldn’t be inaccurate.”

_You’re too kind,_ Stacey deadpanned. But then he smiled and moved onto the second card, crossed over Temperance. The Hanged Man. _Here we have new things coming into your life. Big changes. But nothing you can’t handle._ He pointed to next card in the spread and hiked an eyebrow. The Lovers.

_We both know this isn’t a literal card, but with what’s going on in your life right now, I think we can take it that way. You’re on your way to a new relationship. Even if it doesn’t work out romantically -- and I think it will, and I’ll get to why in a minute -- you’ll come out of it really close friends. The decisions you make about this will have to be done with intuition rather than intellect, but you’re pretty intuitive, so I think you’ll be okay._

Stacey’s finger slid to the next card, the Five of Swords. _This card represents past or present influences on your situation. Most of the negative stuff is moving toward the past, your self-doubt, your nerves, your worries. It’s been in the way but you’re getting over it._

He pointed at the card above the cross. _And this is why I said I think it’s going to work out romantically. The Ten of Cups. This represents what you’re hoping for, which is a new relationship. Perfect love. This Josselin guy is perfect for you, apparently._

His eyes darted to the next card and he stretched his pinky out so he was touching both at once. The Ten of Cups and the Two of Cups.

_The cards are really pushing you towards this,_ Stacey signed. _They can’t make it any more obvious. They think you’d be great with this guy, and that this potential relationship would be the best thing that could ever happen to you. But you can’t waffle about it. You have to act. The cards can only tell you what you might want to do. They can’t do it for you._

The next card was Death. _This isn’t necessarily bad, as you know,_ Stacey signed. _It just means that this relationship will mean big changes. Like, completely overturning your life changes. Most of them will be good, but some of them…_ he trailed off, leaving his hands hanging in the air for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest.

_This is what I don’t get,_ he finally signed. He picked up the next card and turned it toward Meara. The Four of Swords, reversed. Meara had seen it, but didn’t know enough about the spread to know what it had meant in this specific situation. All he knew in any depth was the three card spread. Otherwise, he only knew what the cards meant in a general sense -- and this one was bad. Isolation, seclusion, abandonment.

_Someone important is going to be very, very angry about you two,_ Stacey said. _Like, disowning you forever angry. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out who. You know Adam and I support you completely, and the only other really important people I can think of are Danny and his family, who have known you’re bi as long as you have. I mean, they’re the first people you came out to, right?_

Meara nodded. _Yeah. None of them have ever been anything but supportive._

_Exactly,_ Stacey signed. _So who would it be? The only other people I can think of are your parents, but you hardly ever talk to them, so I wouldn’t consider them important._

Meara bit his lip. Stacey was right; he’d spoken to his parents three times since the beginning of the year. He hadn’t spoken to any of his siblings since he moved out at seventeen. But in the back of his head, he’d always hoped they could forge a better relationship, that they might one day regret being neglectful and come back to him with apologies and the love he’d always craved. Would being with Josselin mean being cut off from them for good? Despite the fact that he’d dated both boys and girls in high school, his parents didn’t know about his sexual orientation. Each boyfriend had been a closely guarded secret because Meara had heard the things his parents said about the queer community when they thought he wasn’t listening, and sometimes even when they knew he was. _They’re a plague on the city_ , they’d said.

_But the cards are saying pursuing Josselin is a big risk._

Meara focused back in when Stacey’s hands started moving again.

_It’ll be the best decision for yourself, but you’ll lose something important, too._

Stacey pointed at the next card, the Four of Swords. _This one basically emphasizes the sudden loss you’ll experience,_ he signed. _But the last card is the Star, which means things are going to get better, and overall, things will turn out well once everything is over._

The two friends sat in silence for a few moments. The room was still. Even the incense smoke and candle flames burned straight.

_Thank you_ , Meara finally signed. _Even though I don’t understand some of it yet, that was the best reading you’ve given in a long time. I appreciate it. Do you want some kind of payment?_

Stacey shook his head. _It’s always free for you,_ he signed. He gathered up his cards as Meara stood and slipped on his shoes. He snuffed out the candle and incense, and as he and Stacey left the room, the chime in the closed window tinkled behind them.


	8. Chapter 8

The Tarot reading lingered in Meara’s mind well into his lunch hour. He closed up shop at noon and went into the back where he kept the mini-fridge and the microwave and pulled out his lunch, just a simple sandwich and some carrots and hummus. He hadn’t had much time to put anything together this morning. He ate the first half of his sandwich slowly, pondering Stacey’s words, then stuffed the last half into his mouth in huge chunks like a man dying of starvation so he could get through it quickly and go over to the tattoo parlor. Josselin might very well be busy, he might be working on a client or doing paperwork -- because Meara was pretty sure he owned the place -- but he could always wave and leave a message with Sara. They didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers. He should leave that, too.

He locked the door behind him and entered the tattoo parlor. Josselin was talking to someone as he gestured toward the tattoo on her leg. Was she just finishing, or was she in for a touch-up?

Meara walked up to the desk. Sara looked up from her magazine and popped the gum in her mouth.

“Hey!” she grinned. “Welcome! What are you doing here?”

“I was just here to see Josselin, but it looks like he’s busy?”

“They’re just finishing up,” Sara said, glancing over her shoulder at the two as they stood and started making their way toward her. “Hang on. Could you step to the side so I can ring her up?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Meara took a few steps back, bumping into a small table covered in binders. One got knocked to the floor and fell open. He picked it up, about to close it, but the art caught his curious eyes. Both pages were covered in watercolor style flowers, flowing and beautiful. Lilies with thin, wispy stamen; peonies with tiny leaves; cherry blossoms on long, elegant twigs.

“Meara? What are you doing here?”

Meara’s head jerked up. Josselin was smiling. A good sign. He was welcome here.

“Hey,” Meara said. He closed the binder and put it down. “If this isn’t a bad time, do you have a few minutes?”

Josselin looked down at his watch. He nodded his head from side to side, then looked back up and said, “I have about ten minutes until my next appointment. Do you want to talk here or upstairs?”

“We don’t have to go upstairs,” Meara said. “But do… is there any place a little more private?”

Josselin looked over at his coworkers. All three were here. “The break room? I can’t promise Dante or Christian won’t come in, though. Sara won’t; her break isn’t for another hour. But they take theirs whenever they have the time.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Meara said. He wanted to do this somewhere private, but not at Josselin’s place. The break room wasn’t exactly neutral -- it was still Josselin’s territory -- but at least it wasn’t as loaded as his apartment. Meara had no reason to believe Josselin would say ‘no’ to his question, but he didn’t want to have to do the walk of shame down the stairs and through the tattoo parlor if he did.

The break room was tiny, with a microwave and a sink with a dish strainer beside it, a single table and four chairs. Meara and Josselin each took one, across from each other. Meara reached out, as if to take Josselin’s hand, but then withdrew and curled his fingers into his palm, resting his knuckles against his mouth.

“What’s up?” Josselin asked.

“I was, um,” Meara started awkwardly. He paused. The room was heavy with his nerves. Only the faint music from the main room on the other side of the door kept it from silence. “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve.

Finally, he decided it would be best to steel up his nerves and just say it all at once. So he clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and blurted, “I like you a lot and I’d really like to make whatever it is we’re doing official and continue to see you on a monogamous basis and --”

“Yes!”

Meara opened his eyes to see a bright grin on Josselin’s face.

“I’m sorry, I interrupted you. I… I’m sorry. I guess I got excited and got ahead of myself. What else were you going to say?”

Meara licked his lips. “I think I was just going to ramble and repeat myself until you interrupted me. So. Thank you for that.” He stood, pushing his chair back. “I’ve got to get back to my shop,” he said, “I open back up in about twenty minutes and I have some things to do first. But I didn’t want to have to wait until Monday to see you, and --”

“I understand.” Josselin smiled and took Meara’s hand, following him to his feet. “Can we…” He trailed off nervously, then cleared his throat. If Meara wanted to be official, questions like this were okay and even expected, right? “Can we kiss on it?”

Meara grinned and leaned closer, pressing his lips to Josselin’s soft, warm ones. Josselin’s hand curled tighter around Meara’s and he rested the other on the shorter man’s hip, pulling him closer. Meara wrapped his arms around Josselin’s neck and leaned into the touch. This kiss was different: it was a little firmer, surer, more confident, tongues and lips exploring new territory like they were laying claim to it. And, Meara guessed, if they were kissing on their agreement, that was kind of what they were doing.

_He’s my boyfriend now_.

Meara smiled against Josselin’s mouth and chuckled in pure happiness. Josselin pulled back and rested his forehead against Meara’s. “What?” he asked.

“I’m just happy,” Meara said. “This makes you my boyfriend, right?”

“I like to think so,” Josselin replied.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” Meara pressed a kiss to Josselin’s cheek, just at the corner of his mouth, and pulled away. Josselin’s hand was still on his hip, loosely, like he was trying to keep him from leaving.

“I’ll see you later,” Meara said. “But I have to get back, now. Oh!” He pulled out his cell phone and continued, “I wanted to swap phone numbers with you. It’s been almost a week and somehow we haven’t done that yet.”

Josselin laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess it didn’t cross my mind, since you’re right next door.”

Josselin gave Meara his phone number and he sent Josselin a text that simply said, _Meara’s phone_.

“I’ll put it in my contacts later,” he said, without taking his phone out of his pocket.

“I really have to go, though,” Meara said. “I have a lot of plants to water and cut flowers to sort.”

“Okay,” Josselin laughed. And after one more kiss, he escorted his new boyfriend back to his shop next door, then went back to the tattoo parlor to ready things for his next client.

The watering can was out in the middle of the floor when Meara walked inside. The brownies had, again, taken it upon themselves to help with his chores.

“You’re all the best,” Meara said. “Which ones did you do?” The leaves of the plants over in the herb section rustled as if in the breeze, but the air was still.

“Okay. I’ll do the rest. That was really nice of you.” A ‘thank you’ almost slipped out, but he caught it before it passed his lips. The brownies and pixies in his shop were benevolent and he didn’t think anything too bad would come of it, maybe nothing more than a scolding. But with all the fairies he worked with and all their different temperaments, it was a habit he couldn’t get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late in the day. I've been having continuing health problems that have been a distraction. At least it's up today, though!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH sorry it's a day late, health issues, blah blah blah. Let's just say I'll update sometime between Monday and Wednesday every week.

A month passed. Autumn came. The leaves changed and the wind coming in from the bay slowly got colder. Hoodies and hats came out and pumpkin and apples and cinnamon were everywhere.

And Meara got sick.

At first, everyone thought it was just a cold. It started with minor aches and pains and sniffles, and the first two days he was still able to work. But on the third day, when Josselin went next door at eleven to pick Meara up for their lunch date across the street, the door was locked and the sign was flipped to closed. He frowned. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Meara.

_I’m here. Are you?_

Josselin breathed in the crisp, cool air, leaning against the wall as he waited for a reply. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Too cold for just a t-shirt, too warm for long sleeves. The bright color on his arms was dim in the cloudy, foggy morning.

Finally, Meara texted back.

_I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I didn’t even make it into the shop today. I’ve been puking all morning and I can’t hold anything down._

_Do you want me to come over after work? My last appointment’s at 8._

Again, a long pause before Meara sent a response.

_No, that’s okay. I don’t want you to catch it. Hopefully it’s just a 24 hour stomach bug. Maybe if I’m still sick tomorrow._

Josselin pocketed his phone and was about to go inside when it went off again.

_Actually, could you come by? I need someone to water my plants for me. I can give you my spare key so you don’t have to come back again._

Josselin ran his hand through his messy hair, then pulled the band out of his ponytail so he could fix it. He sent a quick reply,

_Okay. See you a little after 8._

and fixed his hair, smoothing it back and pulling it back into a clean ponytail. He went back inside. Sara looked up when the door opened.

“What are you doing back so soon?”

“Meara’s sick,” Josselin said. “He never opened the shop today. I can still run across the street if anyone wants coffee?” He raised his voice so Dante and Christian would hear.

“Black, iced, thanks,” Christian called back.

“Pumpkin spice,” Dante said.

Josselin looked at Sara. Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.

“Is Jussi selling gingerbread lattes yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Josselin said.

“Just a mocha, then. Thanks, Joss.”

Josselin smiled and made his way out the door and across the street.

* * *

 

Meara opened his eyes at the knock on the bathroom door. He laid on the floor, curled into a ball, the tile cold and sharp against his cheek. His shirt was rucked up at his hip and the chill of the tile bit the fevered skin of his stomach.

“What?” he groaned. The door opened behind him. “What?” he groaned again.

Bare feet stepped over his side and Stacey appeared in front of him, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.

 _What’s going on?_ he signed.

 _Puke_ , Meara signed back simply. His hands shook too badly for much else.

 _Do you want a Reiki boost?_ Stacey asked. _Would that help?_

 _Anything will help,_ Meara signed back, shaky and one-handed.

 _On your back,_ Stacey signed. Meara flopped over on his back, arms and legs splayed out.

 _I can only try to ease your symptoms a little,_ Stacey signed. _After this I’ll make you some tea. But this is probably the flu and you need to see a doctor._

 _No I don’t,_ Meara protested. _Just give me a few days. I’ll be fine._

Stacey rolled up the sleeves of his baseball shirt and flexed his hands. He rubbed them together a few times, then signed, _Do you feel up to meditating with me for a few minutes?_

Meara shook his head.

_Then just close your eyes and try to relax._

Stacey’s hands never came into active contact with Meara’s skin or clothes. They hovered a half inch or so above, close enough that Meara could feel the heat from the smaller man’s palms. But mostly it was a cool tingling above his stomach and chest, like sparkling water being poured over his body. Invisible strings pulled gently at his stomach as Stacey did his best to move things around and remove the worst of it, but Meara knew that there was no way he could heal him fully. But he’d be grateful for even some relief. Just good enough that he didn’t need to see a doctor. He had insurance, but it wasn’t very good and didn’t offer much coverage, and he didn’t want to get the lecture about not getting the flu shot. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want one -- he usually got it every year -- he was just too busy this season. But he’d make sure to make the time to get one after he was well so he didn’t have to go through it again.

Stacey pulled and tweaked and charged for a good twenty minutes. Finally, the cool tingling stopped and the warmth of his hands disappeared. Meara’s eyes cracked open. Stacey was kneeling on the rolled up bathmat, curled over him. He straightened and signed,

_Please see a doctor. I did my best but you’re still going to be a mess. There are certain things you need medicine to fix._

_If I’m still feeling like this in a few days, I will,_ Meara said.

 _Take your time getting up._ Stacey’s face was soft and gentle. _I’ll make you something for your stomach._

The living room smelled of simmering herbs when Meara finally left the bathroom. Stacey was leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, watching the pot. He glanced over and saw Meara, and signed,

_About five minutes. It’s got a blend of herbs for your stomach and Echinacea for your immune system. Hopefully it’ll help ease some of the pain._

_Thank you_ , Meara signed back.

* * *

 

Meara sat in silence at the coffee table in the wooden rocking chair. He rocked himself gently, once, twice, up on his toes, but when it made him even woozier, he stilled. He balanced his mug on his knee, looking at the plants across the room in the windowsill. Stacey had disappeared back into his bedroom.

He tried some of the tea. It tasted heavily of licorice root and ginger. He only took tiny sips, afraid too much too fast would just make him vomit again.

By the time he made it to the bottom of the mug, his tea was cold, and what had been soothing and pleasant suddenly made his skin crawl. He put the mug on the table and closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. A cool breeze fluttered in through the cracked window, and when it hit his face and he breathed it in, it sent him into a coughing fit. His stomach lurched and the bile rose again. Meara jerked to his feet and ran to the bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet.

It tasted like stomach acid and licorice coming up, and that made the vomiting even worse. He couldn’t even keep down tea meant specifically to help the nausea. He was a mess.

His whole body shook and heaved, but finally, everything calmed down, and he collapsed on the floor again, but with his face on the bathmat this time. It was covered in grit. He’d have to beat it out later and remember to throw it in the wash the next time he did laundry. Meara groaned and his eyes slipped closed as he curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his throbbing, queasy stomach.

* * *

 

Meara opened his eyes when he heard a knock on the door some time later. Before he could answer, the knob turned, and the person on the other side hesitated. They pushed in, just barely, then paused, and then opened it the rest of the way. Stacey poked his head in and frowned.

 _Let me help you into bed,_ he signed. _Josselin is here, but you don’t seem up to sitting in the living room. He’s --_

The door pushed open farther and nudged Stacey to the side, interrupting his hands. Josselin entered and Stacey shot him a look that clearly said, _Excuse me, rude._

 _Sorry,_ Josselin signed.

It had come to a shock to Meara when Josselin had come over the first time and been able to sign with Stacey and the rest of them. He hadn’t known the older man knew ASL. Josselin wasn’t fluent, but he knew enough to keep up with a regular conversation without any specialized language.

Stacey rolled his eyes. _It’s okay. Help me get him to bed? Since you’re closer to his height it’ll be easier for him to lean on you._

Each man took one of Meara’s arms and pulled him to his feet. The brunette wobbled and his face went pale when his stomach lurched again. He held up a hand and used the other to cover his mouth, taking a step back. But this time he didn’t vomit, and after a moment, he allowed Stacey and Josselin to lead him to his bedroom.

Stacey left as Josselin helped Meara settle in, and came back with a mug and an old mixing bowl nobody ever used. He put the mug down on Meara’s beside table.

 _Drink this_. He put the bowl on Meara’s chest. _And this is in case you can’t get to the bathroom._

Josselin was sitting beside Meara, now, near his hip. He leaned forward to brush the curly hair away from the younger man’s sweaty forehead. A few stray strands stuck.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Josselin asked. Stacey glanced between them and left the room.

Meara shook his head, then suddenly stilled. His face was pale. “No,” he choked. “This all just started today.”

“But you’ve been sick two days before this,” Josselin prodded gently.

“Just give it a few days,” Meara said. “I’ll be fine. Miserable in the meantime, but fine.” Josselin looked doubtful, so Meara said, “If I’m still sick after the weekend, I’ll go to the doctor.”

Josselin’s mouth turned down. It was Thursday night. That was a long time to go with the stomach flu, or whatever this was. But he couldn’t do anything about Meara’s decision short of carrying him downstairs to his car and driving him to the ER himself. So he said,

“All right. But if you get worse over the weekend, I’m taking you to the hospital.”


	10. Chapter 10

Josselin watered Meara’s plants that night, and the night after. Every time he went into the flower shop, the broom and watering can were in a different place, and he knew someone was having fun with him. But it was harmless, and there was nothing threatening, so he didn’t complain. He didn’t want to offend anyone who might take it out on Meara when he got back.

Saturday came and when Josselin came downstairs, the florist was still closed. _Maybe he’s opening late for some reason_ , Josselin thought. But at 11:00, nothing. Noon, nothing. He texted Meara and didn’t hear anything back. At 1:00, he finally went to Sara and said,

“I need you to clear out my schedule today. Cancel all my appointments. Reschedule them wherever they fit, even if it puts me with clients back to back. Something’s come up.”

Sara’s brow furrowed in worry. “Is it Meara?” she asked. “I know the shop’s been closed.”

“He’s had the flu and he’s not getting any better. I haven’t heard from him all day. I’m going over to check on him. I might have to take him to the hospital.”

* * *

 

Josselin’s fists clenched tight on the steering wheel as he drove. For the first time in ages, he was really, truly grateful that his mom had left him her car when she died. He didn’t know how it still held itself together after so many years of use, through miracles or magic or sheer stubborn determination, but he took good care of it and it still ran. It was a bit beaten up, but he couldn’t ask for a more reliable car.

Meara didn’t live far. Josselin pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot and found the closet space to Meara’s apartment he could. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the door, then quickly rang the doorbell three times in quick succession. Adam had rigged it up so it would flash a light in Stacey’s room, and Josselin wanted to be as annoying as possible to get him to the door right away if he was home.

The seconds that passed felt like minutes, and Josselin had finally just caught his breath when Meara opened the door, wrapped up in a blanket draped over his head. His skin was pale and his face was thinner than it had been two days ago. If he’d dropped that much weight in such an obvious way, he clearly wasn’t keeping anything down. Maybe not even water. His lips were dry and chapped and an unhealthy whitish pallor, and his eyes were ringed in dark blue and purple.

“I’m taking you to the hospital and you aren’t arguing with me,” Josselin said.

Meara frowned. “But --” he started weakly.

“Put on your shoes,” Josselin interrupted.

“But I can’t afford --”

“I’ll pay for it. Put on your shoes.”

Meara’s brow drew down and his eyes glistened, and Josselin thought for a split second that his boyfriend was going to start crying. But then Meara sighed and nodded, slipping on the pair of flip flops he kept near the door and grabbing his wallet from the little table beside it. He slid the blanket off his head and looked around, as if trying to find somewhere to put it, but Josselin said, “Bring it with you. We’re going to be there for a while. You can wrap up if you get cold or use it as a pillow.”

Meara sniffled and nodded and followed Josselin out to his car.

The ride was mostly silent. Every now and then, Meara lurched, and Josselin found a plastic bag in the backseat for him in case he needed to vomit again. Thankfully, he didn’t. But he was wobbly when they crossed the parking lot to get to the ER, and he collapsed into the chair at registration just before his knees gave out.

***

They waited for three hours before an attendant finally came back to bring Meara to a room. Nurses and doctors rushed in and out, busy with dozens of other patients besides him. A nurse put in a saline IV and gave him a shot of anti-nausea medication, and a phlebotomist took some blood to run some tests. He talked to the doctor, briefly, a few times, and after six hours of IVs and tests and waiting, she came back and said, “We’re going to move you to critical care. We might end up keeping you two or three days, depending on how fast you recover.”

The nurse who had put in his IV came back with someone Meara hadn’t seen before, and she took the head of the bed while the man took the foot. Josselin followed a few steps behind as they wheeled him out of the room.

“I saw that your mother was your emergency contact and gave her a call,” the nurse said.

Meara’s eyes shot open. He started to push himself up, but his elbows gave out.

“How do I check myself out?” he asked, panicked.

“What?” The nurse’s voice was unsure, and Josselin was suddenly walking faster, right beside them.

“Meara?” he asked.

“I don’t want to see her,” Meara said. “I _can’t_ see her. Why did you _call_ her?”

“Why is she listed as your emergency contact if you don’t want to see her?” The nurse’s voice was worried, now.

“It’s from when I was younger,” Meara said. “I haven’t been to this hospital since I was twelve. I didn’t realize. You should have asked me when you asked for my updated insurance information.”

“I’m so sorry,” the nurse said. They wheeled him in and out of an elevator, up to the second floor, and into a small room with a glass door. Josselin took Meara’s hand while he continued to ramble, half-incoherently, about why he couldn’t talk to his mother.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the nurse said. “If she causes you any trouble, we’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t even want to give her the opportunity.” Meara’s voice was shrill with panic, as weak as it was. But the nurse was already gone, onto her next patient.

Josselin brushed Meara’s hair out of his face and pulled a piece of lint from the corner of his glasses. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure they take care of you.”

“But --”

“Why are you so afraid of seeing her?” In the month they’d been dating, as much as Josselin talked about his mom, Meara had never mentioned his family. He talked about Stacey and Adam, he talked about Danny, who Josselin hadn’t met, and Danny’s parents. But Meara never discussed his own family. Josselin didn’t even know whether he was an only child. He’d never pushed the issue, because he knew how sensitive those topics could be. But now he wished he had.

Meara cast his eyes down to the white hospital blanket. His was folded up at his feet.

“Could you help me switch out the blankets?” he asked. “Mine is softer. I mean, if I’m going to be here for a while --”

“You’re deflecting.” But Josselin began to unfold the fleece blanket, anyway. Although he was right beside Meara, Josselin didn’t look at him, trying to give him at least some semblance of space in the tiny room.

“My parents are just… shitty,” Meara finally said. “They were never around. They never talked to me and when they were home they kept me locked in my room with bars on the windows, for hours, sometimes. Eventually after I broke out enough times they let me wander around, but only because they thought I wasn’t worth the trouble. The gardener was more a mom than my mother was. They favored all my other siblings and gave them everything, but for some reason, they hated me. Or maybe they just didn’t care. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She just can’t be here. I can only talk to them on the phone for like, minutes before it gets to be too much. I probably shouldn’t even talk to them at all, but... I want them to love me, I guess.” He stuffed his fingers under his glasses, scrubbing at his eyes. “It’s pathetic, I know.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Josselin said. “It’s human.” He paused. “Why didn’t you want to come to the hospital?”

Meara dropped his hand and opened his eyes. “I don’t have a lot of savings,” he said. “I only just started breaking even earlier this year. With all the sales I’ll lose --”

“What’s the real reason?” Josselin’s voice was gentle, but Meara had never felt so accused. He opened his mouth, about to give an indignant reply, but Josselin’s face was so worried, so sad, that in a moment of complete, soul-baring honesty, Meara blurted out,

“I don’t deserve to be taken care of like that.”

The words were so tiny, so sad, so _afraid_. Josselin’s heart broke and it showed on the lines of worry on his face. Meara looked down.

“Yes,” Josselin whispered. “You do.”

* * *

 

Minutes of fearful anticipation stretched into hours. Night fell, and Meara’s mother still hadn’t arrived. Maybe she wasn’t coming at all. It took some time, but eventually, he was able to relax enough to take a nap.

When he woke up, he had a new saline bag and there was a cup of water on the table beside him. Josselin was still there, sitting in a chair, doing something on his phone. Every minute or so he swiped his finger across the screen.

“Will you read something to me?” Meara asked softly. His voice was still weak, but a little more sure.

Josselin looked up from his phone. His eyes darted down to the screen, back up at Meara again.

“Do you understand French?”

“No.”

“Hang on a minute, then. Let me find something in English.”

“Whatever you’re reading now is fine.” Meara turned his head toward Josselin and closed his eyes. “I’m not really coherent enough to even keep up with English, anyway.”

“Okay,” Josselin said.

Josselin’s French accent wasn’t _quite_ right. It was a little too guttural and he couldn’t roll his ‘r’s for as long as he needed to, but it was still so nice to listen to, lilting and musical. Meara understood very little of it, words or a phrase here and there he’d retained from his high school classes, but after years of disuse, his grasp on the language had mostly slipped.

Again, Meara began to doze off. Josselin trailed off and took his boyfriend’s hand, curling their fingers together. Meara sighed softly, and soon, he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did you know I have a tumblr? I sure do! You can find me at
> 
> indecentpause.tumblr.com
> 
> and if you like this AU, you can check out other Sheraton Academy canon work in the 'sheraton academy' tag!


	11. Chapter 11

Josselin was still on his phone when a woman he didn’t recognize barged into the room, half-shouting, “Do you have any idea what an inconvenience it is to come all the way out here for you? Your father and I have things to do. I could have easily left you here alo --”

She stopped abruptly, mid-word, when she saw Josselin sitting in the chair next to the bed, his hand intertwined with Meara’s and staring at her wide-eyed.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Who the hell are _you?_ ” Josselin parroted back.

“I’m his _mother_ ,” she snapped. “ _Danielle_.”

Josselin’s hand twitched in Meara’s grasp, but he didn’t pull away. He held on tighter. Meara stirred at all the commotion, and when he opened his eyes, he looked around the room, foggy and disoriented. His eyes fell on his mother and he froze. He sucked in a panicked, wheezing breath.

“Hey, Mom,” he murmured. “This is, um.” He pulled his hand out of Josselin’s and tucked it under the opposite arm. “This is Josselin.”

The door opened and closed again, but nobody looked in its direction until a clipped, accented voice cried, “Meara, my darling, are you okay?”

Meara looked in the direction of the voice. It was Danny’s mother, Ashraf, though out of habit and respect he’d always called her Mrs. Yazdi. She shoved past his mother and wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders, hugging him as tightly as he could take in his condition. Her light green hijab and beautiful, flowing brown skirt smelled like coriander and home. He hugged back, hands tight in the back of her loose shirt.

“Please make her leave,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “I don’t know how. I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it is okay,” Mrs. Yazdi whispered. “Danesh will be here soon. He is just parking the car. Rahbar is on his way. He was held late at work. Together we will all get this sorted out.”

Josselin still sat by Meara’s side, trying to take in all the sudden and quick changes in the situation, trying to judge what his best course of action would be. He wouldn’t leave the hospital unless they made him. But should he leave the room? This was family business, and Meara had made it clear earlier he wasn’t comfortable sharing that with people.

“Get your hands off my son!” Danielle shouted. Meara hugged Mrs. Yazdi even tighter, and she gently shushed him one more time before she let go and turned around.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Don’t touch him,” Danielle snapped.

“I have every right to hug my son’s best friend when he is sick.”

“This is your fault,” Danielle hissed. “You and your… _family_.” She spit the word like a curse. “ _You_ put these ideas into his head.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Mrs. Yazdi’s normally calm, if clipped and quick, voice was growing higher, shriller, and Meara flinched back, because the only thing scarier than an angry Mrs. Yazdi was being the one her anger was focused on.

“He was holding that… that… _man’s_ hand when I walked in.” Danielle gestured at Josselin, the disgust clear on her face. Josselin didn’t flinch. He glared back at her defiantly.

“And?” Mrs. Yazdi said. “If he is happy, what does it matter?”

“It’s disgusting!” Danielle cried.

“You’re disgusting!” Mrs. Yazdi shouted back. “The way you treat him is disgusting! Meara is a good boy. You should be grateful to have him but instead you mistreat and neglect him. You treat him like garbage and it is appalling!”

“How dare you! I never --”

“He weighed eighty pounds when he started high school!” Mrs. Yazdi cried. “He was near dying when my son brought him home to me and my husband for the first time.”

Josselin gasped and Meara buried his face in the hand without the IV.

The door opened again and the nurse who had called Meara’s mother pushed in.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“Please make her leave,” Meara whispered.

“What was that?”

“Please make her leave.”

The nurse gently touched Mrs. Yazdi’s elbow. “Ma’am, if you’ll come with me --”

“Not her!” Meara’s attempt at a shout was weak and tired and a little pathetic, but the anger in his voice was sharp and clear. Josselin jumped. They’d gotten along so well from the beginning that sometimes Josselin forgot they’d only known each other a month, but it still came as a surprise to suddenly realize he’d never seen Meara angry.

Mrs. Yazdi jerked her arm away with an indignant huff.

“Everybody into the hallway now,” the nurse said. “Please.”

“But --” Danielle started.

“Now,” the nurse repeated firmly. “I’ll be out to talk to you in a few minutes, but I need to speak with the patient alone, if he’s all right with that.” She turned to Meara for an answer. He nodded.

Josselin squeezed Meara’s hand as he stood, fingers lingering and carefully avoiding the IV as he dragged the touch on his palm. He walked away to do as the nurse asked. Once the three had left, the nurse closed the door and turned to Meara. He’d buried his face in his hands again and his shoulders were shaking. The nurse sat down beside him in Josselin’s newly vacated chair.

“Talk to me, sweetie. What do you need?”

“I need you to make my mother leave. Danielle Ryanne. The white woman. Leave Mrs. Yazdi alone. I want Josselin and her to stay. Her son is my best friend and he’s on his way, too. And when her husband comes later I want to see him. If my roommates come, I’ll see them. Nobody else.”

“I’ll get you a form,” the nurse said. She checked the IV. It was still half full. “We’ll give it to the visitor’s desk to look at when they check ID to make sure only they get sent back. Do you want us to let you know if anyone else comes, in case there’s someone you forgot?”

“If anyone else comes, I’m not even here,” he choked.

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll ask Mrs. Ryanne to leave. Would you like me to send your partner and your friend back in?”

Meara nodded.

* * *

 

Josselin shrank back beside the large glass wall that showed Meara’s room. Meara and the nurse were talking and he looked so distraught, Josselin wanted nothing more in the world than to be in there holding him, reassuring him that it was okay. The two women hadn’t said a word to each other since they’d been ushered out of the room, glaring knives at each other. Clearly there was a strong mutual hatred between them, and from what little Josselin was able to glean from what he’d heard in the room, he understood Mrs. Yazdi’s, at least. Both women were shorter than him, but he still tried to make himself smaller. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know enough about anything to do much but make the situation worse.

Finally, after what seemed like eons but could only have been a couple of minutes, the nurse came back out.

“Mrs. Ryanne,” she said.

Danielle shot Mrs. Yazdi a smug look that made Josselin’s blood boil. She took a step toward the door.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the nurse said.

Danielle stopped abruptly. Her face dropped. Mrs. Yazdi shot Josselin a smile almost as smug as Danielle’s had been.

“Excuse me?” she said. “He is my _son_ \--”

“He is also a legal adult, and he has asked you to leave,” the nurse repeated. Josselin flinched. Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to hurt Meara later. “And if you don’t, I will call security to escort you out. I’m sorry I called you out here and wasted your time. If you want to file a complaint, my name is Angela Garcia. Please leave, ma’am.”

Danielle hesitated, then huffed and spun away, storming off with heavy footsteps and hunched shoulders. Angela turned to Mrs. Yazdi.

“I’m very sorry about what I did in the patient’s room,” she said. “I shouldn’t have assumed to understand the situation. I am very, very sorry.”

Mrs. Yazdi’s tense face finally softened, and she smiled.

“Let me see my boy and it is forgotten.”

Angela smiled and opened the door, poking her head in to tell Meara, “I’ve taken care of it. I’ll bring you that form now okay?”

“Okay,” Meara murmured.

Josselin offered the single seat to Mrs. Yazdi, but she shook her head and held up her hand. “You sit next to him,” she said. “I will ask the nurse if they can bring in an extra chair when she comes back, but if she cannot, the spot beside the bed is reserved for the person’s partner.” She turned to Meara and asked, “Do you still prefer the term boyfriend?”

Meara nodded. His usually fair face was flushed pink, from fever or embarrassment, Josselin couldn’t tell.

“Boyfriend, then.” She paused. “Right? If he was holding your hand like she said, I assume this is the man you were telling us about.”

Meara nodded again, still bright pink, but smiling now, too.

“Mrs. Yazdi, this is Josselin,” he said softly, gesturing toward his boyfriend. Josselin took his hand and kissed his clammy palm. “Josselin, this is Mrs. Yazdi. Ashraf.”

“Whichever you are more comfortable with is fine,” Mrs. Yazdi said.

The door opened and Meara looked up, expecting to see the nurse again, but instead, his best friend in the whole world, Danny, poked his head in. Meara’s shoulders started to relax.

“Dude, I ran into your mom on my way in. She is _pissed_. I thought she was going to haul off and hit me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Meara sighed. Danny pushed his sunglasses further back on his head, into his spiky black hair. His chipped black-painted nails glinted in the bright fluorescent light.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Meara said. “But I will be.”

Danny turned to Josselin and took a few steps forward, offering his hand. “I’m Danny,” he introduced himself. “I’m a friend of Meara’s.”

“I know. I recognize you from his stories. I’m Josselin.”

“From his stories?” Danny asked. He hiked an eyebrow and smirked.

Mrs. Yazdi laughed. “You and Meara _did_ get up to quite a lot of trouble when you were younger. I am sure he has plenty to tell.”

It took some time, but with help from Josselin and the others, Meara finally relaxed and even found the energy to joke around with Danny a bit.

“How did you know I was here, anyway?” he finally found the sense to ask.

“Stacey texted me,” Danny said. He nodded at Josselin from where he stood in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. “Josselin texted him from your phone.”

“I hope that was okay,” Josselin said. “I did it while you were sleeping and then your mom barged in and I just… completely forgot to tell you. I’m sorry. It was just getting late and I didn’t want Adam and Stacey coming home to an empty apartment thinking you’d died somewhere. I just told him you were in critical care but okay and that you’d text him if and when you were up for visitors.”

“Thank you,” Meara murmured. “I feel so awful, it didn’t even cross my mind.”

Mrs. Yazdi’s phone went off and she dug it out of her purse. She unlocked and scanned the screen, then looked up at Danny and said, “Your father is here. He’s on his way up now.”

“There’s a visitor limit of three people,” Josselin said. Danny and his mom shared a look, as if silently discussing which of them should step out. Josselin stood.

“I’ll go,” he said. “My shop closes soon and I need to be back to lock up.” He kissed Meara’s forehead and said, “I’ll check on your store and plants tomorrow morning before I start to see if anything needs watering.”

“There’s a feeding schedule on the fridge in the back,” Meara said. “Did you see it?”

“I didn’t go into the back,” Josselin said. “But I’ll look tomorrow.” He gently kissed Meara’s head one more time and Meara pulled him down closer to kiss his cheek, but stayed away from his nose and lips. He didn’t want his boyfriend catching his disease.

“Drive safe,” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine.” Josselin smiled. He shook Danny’s hand, then Mrs. Yazdi’s, and she pulled him into a hug.

“No handshakes among family,” she said. He laughed and hugged her back. When they pulled away, she said, “Once Meara is better, I would love to have you both over for dinner. I would like to get to know you better under less stressful circumstances.”

Josselin glanced over his shoulder for Meara’s permission. Meara gave him a tired smile and a thumbs up. Josselin turned back to Mrs. Yazdi again and said, “All right. I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at indecentpause.tumblr.com !


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, maybe I should just make Wednesday the official update day instead. ;-;

Sara was waiting patiently, feet propped up on the desk and reading a magazine, when Josselin came back. Christian and Dante were gone and she’d flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and locked the door, so he unlocked it and let himself in.

“You’re late,” she said. She turned the page without looking up.

“Only ten minutes." Josselin paused to consider what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t call from the road and I thought traffic would be clearer this late.”

Sara laughed. “It’s okay,” she said. She dropped her feet to the floor and the magazine to her desk. “I just finished counting the drawer, anyway.”

“How did we do?”

“Not as good as we could’ve, since you cancelled so many appointments,” Sara said. “I lined them all back up for you. You’re booked until 8:00 for the rest of the week, except an hour for lunch. It’s different every day. I scheduled you off early so you could go see visit Meara if he’s still in the hospital. I wrote it all down for you. It’s on your desk.”

“Thank you, Sara,” Josselin said gently, earnestly. “You really are the best.”

She grinned and stood, clapping Josselin on his shoulder as she walked past.

“I need to get home,” she said. “My boyfriends and I have a Cards Against Humanity and pizza date.”

“Have fun!”

Josselin waved as she went out the door, and as she passed the window, she waved back with a grin. He took the envelope with the cash profits upstairs with him to take to the bank the next day during his lunch. By the time he got inside, he was suddenly too tired to walk all the way to his bedroom, so he collapsed on the couch and kicked his shoes off on the carpeted floor.

“I might be sleeping out here with you tonight, Mom,” he chuckled. Familiar jumped up onto his stomach and headbutted his chin.

“Yeah, you too,” he laughed, scratching her behind the ears.

* * *

 

The next morning, instead of going on his way after lighting his mom’s incense, Josselin sat crosslegged in front of the small shrine, watching the smoke twist and curl toward the ceiling. He held his mom’s necklace in his left hand, the silver cool against his palm from the crisp autumn air.

“So, I know you can hear me, wherever you are,” Josselin started. “Even if you can’t say anything back. But I thought… I was hoping… maybe you could break your silence and help me out with something.”

The only sound was the thumping of Familiar’s paws as she played with her sparkle ball on the other side of the room.

“I would have preferred to do this where you rest, but I’m not going to be able to get out there until Meara’s out of the hospital. I just won’t have the time. But that’s what I want to ask you about.”

“I don’t know if you saw what happened last night, but Meara’s on really bad terms with his mom, and I think the rest of his family, too. It’s awful, but normally I wouldn’t worry more than normal, but this time… I don’t know, something about this feels bigger than anything I understand. Like something’s going to happen. Am I right?”

He dropped the pendant of the necklace over the small board in front of him. Each corner and side read something different: ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘maybe,’ ‘don’t want to tell,’ ‘can’t tell,’ ‘ask later,’ ‘be more specific’ ‘don’t ask again.’ The center was blank, and this was where he held the pendant, the tiny amethyst crystal point that hung from the center moon pointing straight down.

“What do you think, Mom?” he asked again.

The pendant was mostly still at first. It swayed just slightly, but Josselin knew it was from the subtle movements of his hand. Then it started to swing back and forth between the ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ and his mom gently tugged against his hand toward the ‘yes.’

“Does it have to do with his mom?”

The necklace turned pendulum swung back to the center, then back to the ‘yes.’

“Is she going to do something bad?”

_Yes._

“Is she going to try to _hurt_ him?” Josselin fought to remain calm so he could keep the connection with his mom’s spirit. He knew if he panicked, he’d lose focus, and potentially lose her.

_Can’t tell_.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but what the hell does that mean?”

_Be more specific._

“Is she going to try to hurt him _physically_?”

_No._

Josselin exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. The pendant dropped back into the center of the board again, swaying gently in no particular direction. He paused, and while he considered whether he should pursue that line of questioning, he momentarily diverted to a different one.

“Will Meara be out of the hospital soon?”

_Be more specific._

“Will Meara be out of the hospital within a week?”

_Yes._

Josselin paused. That’s what his old pendulum had said about this mom when she was in the hospital. And she did get out, technically. She died.

“Will Meara be released _alive and well_ within a week?”

_Yes._

The tension in Josselin’s shoulders eased a bit. He had no real reason to believe it would be otherwise -- it was a bad case of flu, but it was still just flu -- but he felt a little better hearing it from someone else, too.

He let the necklace dangle for a moment, the picked it back up and put it on the shrine by the incense burner. Usually he left it hanging in his room, but if he was going to do more divination tonight, it would be a good idea to leave it near the person he was going to contact. He folded the board back in half and slipped it under the little table and stood. With a quick, not-quite urgent step, he grabbed his keys, patting Familiar once on the head and heading down the stairs to Meara’s shop.

He flipped the sign to ‘open’ when he closed the door behind him. He could only stay an hour, but an hour of business was better than none. He knew how to work almost any cash register and while his plant knowledge base wasn’t quite as large as Meara’s, he knew enough to help a layperson with anything they might need. He ducked into the back to check the feeding schedule. Nothing on Sundays.

There was a clanging outside and Josselin ran back into the store, afraid some child had knocked over a display. But there were no customers. The watering can had been moved from the corner to the counter.

“That’ll be a help,” Josselin said. When the pixie that had showed such an interest in his cookies followed him home, Meara had warned him never to thank a fairy, because that would put him in their debt. But Josselin wanted to show his gratitude somehow, so he said, “That was really nice. I’ll bet Meara is happy to have you guys here.”

He filled up the can in the double sink and set an alarm on his phone to go off at 9:50 so he could finish up whatever he was doing and be back in the tattoo parlor by 10:00.

While he waited for customers, Josselin picked up and cleaned around the store, sweeping and cleaning the windows and trimming the plants back. He got a little bit of business, but not much, but it wasn’t bad for only an hour so early in the morning and it was better than nothing.

He’d seen the little altar in the back, with a bowl of sugar and sparkling gemstones and dried flowers, but didn’t have anything to leave, so he made a mental note to bring something by tomorrow, whether Meara was back or not, and went back to the tattoo parlor to open up.

About thirty minutes later, he happened to glance over in the direction of Meara’s shop, and saw movement that he could definitely not attribute to fairies. There were people over there. Every now and then Josselin could see an arm or a side or a shoulder through the plants that Meara had piled up in the translucent window, but never a face. He glanced up at the clock. His next appointment would be in at any moment, but if Meara’s shop was being robbed, or worse, _trashed_ …

“If my appointment is here before I get back, tell them I had to step out and I’ll be back in less than five,” Josselin said as he passed Sara’s desk. She looked up, frowning.

“Is everything --“

“Someone’s over in Meara’s shop and I know for a fact he’s still in the hospital,” Josselin said.

“Do you have your phone?” Sara asked.

Josselin nodded.

“Be careful!” she called as he went out the door.

When he approached the florists’ front door, it didn’t look as If it had been forced and the sign was flipped to “open.”

What should he do? Should he just walk in? Should he knock and see what happened? If Meara were being robbed, they wouldn’t have flipped the sign to encourage people to come in. The bell would announce his presence, so he needed to be prepared if it was someone with ill intentions. He dialed ‘91’ on his phone, then his thumb hovered over the one as he pushed the door open.

“Welcome!” It was a deep, husky voice Josselin had never heard before. _Welcome?_ Had Meara sent one of his friends to run the store while he was in the hospital?

“Hello?” Josselin’s hand loosened slightly on the phone. “It’s Josselin.”

“Oh, hi!” Adam leaned over the counter, poking his head out from behind the plants up against the wall. A small hand waved beside his head. Stacey?

Josselin deleted the number on his phone so he wouldn’t accidentally make an emergency call from his pocket and approached the counter. Stacey was sitting beside Adam on a tall stool. He waved again. Josselin switched over to sign language and said,

_What are you guys doing here?_

_Meara asked us if we could run the store for a few hours,_ Stacey signed. _I can only be here until Tuesday, but by then Meara should be out, we hope._

_Hopefully,_ Josselin repeated.

_I have weekends and Mondays off, but Adam has to work, so we can’t run the store all day. Just until about noon, so he can get to work on time. But we thought it was better than nothing._

Josselin smiled. Some of the tension that had been building up in his shoulders for so long finally relaxed. _Good,_ he signed. _I can help you on Monday. That’s my day off. Maybe I can swap with Adam when he has to go out, if you feel up to staying that long, Stacey?_

Stacey nodded. Josselin offered an awkward one back and signed, _I’ve got to get back to my store. I have an appointment. I just didn’t know you guys were coming and saw you moving around and wanted to make sure everything was okay._

A young woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, was standing at the table with the binders, flipping through the drawings, when Josselin came back in.

“There he is!” Sara called. The woman looked up.

“This is Josselin,” Sara said. “He’s going to be your artist.”

Josselin smiled and shook her hand, then lead her back to his desk and her seat.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t long?”

“Barely two minutes,” the woman smiled.

Josselin nodded. “Good. My neighbor just can’t come into his shop right now so a few friends and I are keeping an eye on it and I just needed to go over there and check on some things. So, what are we doing today?”


	13. Chapter 13

Mrs. Yazdi had planted herself in Josselin’s vacated seat the night before and hadn’t moved since. She slept there, she ate there, and her husband left and returned and brought her laptop in that morning so she could work on numbers and ordering from there while he worked in their shop with Danny, who came back and forth on and off throughout the day. Meara could barely move or even keep his eyes open and spent most of the time sleeping, but having Mrs. Yazdi there, talking to him, telling stories and jokes, was so comforting in the cold room among all the beeping equipment and noise in the hall. Even though they weren’t related, _she_ was his mom, and he didn’t need that woman who’d given birth to him.

Danny and Mr. Yazdi came in and out as their time in the family’s shop would allow. Someone had to man the storefront while Mrs. Yazdi was here handling the finances.

With each day that went by, as Meara slowly started to recover and rehydrate, he grew more and more anxious to get back to work. What little energy he had was all directed toward getting back. Knowing Stacey, Adam, and Josselin were keeping an eye on it and able to open for at least a few hours each morning helped, but it wasn’t the same as being in there himself. He missed his plants, his missed the fairies, the brownies and pixies and the pranks they played and the way they’d help around the shop. Were his friends and boyfriend taking care of them properly, too?

He was finally released Wednesday afternoon. Mrs. Yazdi, who had stayed the entire time, drove him home and made him a cup of tea. Stacey and Adam were both at work, and she asked if he wanted her to stay with him until someone got home or until Danny was done at the store and could come over, but he smiled and declined.

“Thank you, though,” he said. “But I’m sure you want to get home to your own bed, and I’m fine, now. But if you could send Danny by when he gets out that would be awesome.”

“All right, sweetheart.” She kissed his forehead, wagged her finger at him, and said, “Don’t you think about going back to work until tomorrow. Not only doctor’s orders, my orders, too.”

* * *

 

Once she’d left and he locked the door behind her, Meara went back to his room and a windchime going crazy and an upended sugar bowl on the house spirit offering plate.

“Guys, guys, calm down,” he said. “I’m back now. I was in the hospital.”

_We were all very anxious about you,_ the Sea Hag said. _We wanted to wait until she was gone._

It wasn’t out of fear for Mrs. Yazdi, but respect: everyone in the apartment respected her, human and not, and magic was forbidden in her religion. She’d never made an issue of Meara’s practice, but he had asked them to respect hers, too. She would probably find a way to explain the movements with a stretch of science -- she _was_ very logical -- but Meara didn’t want to risk frightening her or making her uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Meara said. “I always appreciate that you do that for me.”

_It’s as much for her. She has always been good to you, and we respect that._ He picked up the sugar bowl and moved the stones and flowers from the offering plate so he could pour the spilled sugar back in. As he righted everything, he said, “I’m glad to be back. The hospital was horrible. Were Stacey and Adam good to you while I was gone?”

_They lit some incense for us one night_ , she said. _The glittery one the pixies like. I think they just picked it because it was on top and everyone was getting angry he was going through your things._

One of the plants on the windowsill rustled, almost defiantly. The Sea Hag laughed.

_He said they’re ‘our things,’ you’re just holding them for us until we need them._

“I guess that’s true.” Meara laughed and lit a stick of incense for each of the four altars, as well as a candle for the Sea Hag. He pulled a small cloth bag out of one of his work drawers and fished out a handful of tiny vials full of white glitter and crushed flower petals, and placed one on each altar beside the incense.

“I missed you all so much,” he whispered. “I hope everyone at the shop is doing as well as you are here.”

_They’ve mostly kept to themselves since you’ve been gone,_ the Sea Hag said. _They helped Josselin clean sometimes._

“It was good of you to check in on them.”

_Always._

* * *

 

The florists’ smelled of green things and herbs and flowers, and when Meara walked in, it was almost more like coming home than going back to his apartment was. If he had the space, he could set up in the back and happily live here. But the back space was so tiny, it barely held the mini-fridge, microwave, and altar.

His altar! He needed to check on that before he did anything else. He left the sign on ‘closed’ so he wouldn’t be disturbed and went into the back where he kept it.

It was perfectly clean and organized, as he’d left it. Somebody had left a seashell full of multi-colored sprinkles next to the offering plate. Josselin?

The closet door opened and closed outside, so he poked his head out to see the broom leaning up against the coolers and a small pile of shed leaves beside it. He smiled.

“You’re always a great help,” he said. He finished sweeping up the leaves and watered the plants that needed to be watered, then unlocked the door and flipped the sign to ‘open.’

The door opened almost immediately after he reached the counter. He turned around with a smile and a wave. A man walked in, middle-aged, graying at the temples, in a hoodie and torn jeans. Not his usual clientele. But Meara knew better than to judge by appearances. Look at Josselin, after all!

“Hi!” he said. “Can I help you find something?”

The man looked over his shoulder and approached, dropping his voice. “I want to buy some marijuana.”

Meara blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again. He was too surprised to answer at first. Nobody had ever assumed he sold drugs before, even legal ones, like mugwort or wormwood.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. You can only buy marijuana from a dispensary with a prescription. I don’t sell stuff like that here. Are you looking for medical use? If it’s for stomach problems, I would recommend peppermint, or maybe you could go to the grocery store and buy some ginger and make a tea?”

“No,” the man said, a little more urgently. “I want --”

“I understand what you want, sir, but I’m telling you I don’t have it. That’s illegal in this state.”

“But I was told --”

“I don’t know who told you what or why, but I do not sell drugs. I don’t even have drugs to sell. If you’re not going to buy something I do have, please leave.”

The man opened his mouth, then frowned, and he stormed out of the shop.

“That was weird,” Meara muttered to himself. A pixie, one a little less wary of humans than the others, poked out from the plants and rustled the delphiniums. The blue cones of flowers bounced in the still air. Meara looked over and whispered, “What are you trying to say?” as if that would clarify it at all. He could sense them, he could sometimes even see them in a way, but he could never understand what they were saying. Maybe he’d pull a card after closing to try to find out.

* * *

 

Meara was getting there, but he was still recovering, and after his nine hour shift, he was more than ready to go home. But first he needed to figure out what that pixie had been saying.

He went into the back and pulled his shop tarot deck out of a little wooden box. He unwrapped the black silk and shuffled them a few times, until it felt right to stop. He cut the deck and drew a single card.

The Empress, reversed.

Reversed? He’d never seen it reversed before. He wasn’t sure he even remembered what that meant. But if The Empress implied maternal instincts and motherly love and support, then …

Was his mother behind this somehow? Was she trying to sabotage his shop?

He’d have Stacey do a more in depth reading later, to make sure he wasn’t projecting. But after what had happened in the hospital? His mother got unstable when she couldn’t have her way, and she’d do anything to destroy people who blocked her from getting what she wanted.

It could have been a coincidence. Maybe this reading had nothing to do with what happened earlier. Maybe it was just trying to warn him that their relationship was eventually going to fall apart.

Meara paused, and he remembered Stacey’s Celtic Cross.

He had no way of knowing for sure, right now. He’d just have to keep an eye on things and be careful.

He put the cards away and grabbed his jacket. By the time he was out the door he was already short of breath, and he still had to make it down the street to his bus stop. He leaned against the wall and looked over at Josselin’s front door. Maybe his boyfriend would let him take a nap on the couch. With a groan, he shoved himself up and peered into the window. Josselin wasn’t busy.

* * *

 

Josselin looked up from his magazine when the electronic door bell chimed, expecting his next client -- who was already late -- but instead, Meara walked in, slumped over with feet shuffling. Josselin stood and met him halfway, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. Meara collapsed against him.

“Can I take a nap on your couch before I have to go home?” Meara’s soft voice was almost a whine now that he was somewhere safe to do so.

“Sure,” Josselin said. He handed Meara his key and said, “You can take the bed. It’s more comfortable. Just don’t touch anything on the altar.”

“Of course.” Meara smiled, finally standing up straight and looking Josselin in the eye. “I saw that you left them some sprinkles. Thank you.”

Josselin smiled and shrugged. “I thought it would just be polite, you know? They helped us keep an eye on things. I thought a little gift would be nice.”

Thankfully Josselin had framed it as a gift and not as a payment, or it would have chased the brownies off. He’d learned a lot about the fae in the past month.

Josselin gently patted Meara’s arm. “Go take a nap. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. It’s mostly just tea and alcohol, but you’re welcome to any of it.”

Meara chuckled and made a mental note to make his next dinner extra big, so he could bring Josselin some leftovers. The older man had never said anything about it, but aside from that first night, Meara had noticed there was never food in the house past takeout or leftovers from restaurants. Josselin had made him that dinner that one time, but he probably didn’t have a very big collection of recipes. Maybe Meara would try to teach him when he was feeling better.

“Thank you,” Meara mumbled. He kissed the corner of Josselin’s mouth and Josselin hugged him tight, then Meara went through the back door and dragged himself up the stairs. He didn’t make it to the bedroom. He fell asleep on the couch in moments.

* * *

 

Josselin kept half his gaze on the back door so he’d be sure to notice when Meara came back down, but he never did. 10:00 came and went and they closed up shop and Meara was still upstairs, presumably asleep.

The door was locked when Josselin tried it, and he knocked, loud and hard, to be sure Meara heard him back in the bedroom. A few minutes passed. Josselin knocked again. He was just about to call Meara when his boyfriend stumbled to the front door, hair in disarray, glasses crooked, squinting in the dim light of the stairwell. The light bounced off Josselin’s own glasses and he narrowed his eyes to better see through the shadows.

“It’s 10:30,” was the first thing Josselin said. “Is your bus still running?”

Meara groaned softly and rubbed his eyes. “Shit.”

“You can stay,” Josselin offered. “Or I can give you a ride home.”

“C’n I stay?” Meara mumbled. “I’ll stay out of the way.”

“You’re never in the way.” Josselin closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around Meara’s waist. Meara buried his nose in his boyfriend’s shoulder and collapsed against him. “Let’s go back to the bedroom.”

Meara hesitated and his arms tightened nervously around Josselin when his boyfriend tried to step past.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just… I don’t…”

He was uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a bed. The tension in his body made it obvious.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Josselin said. He ran his fingers through Meara’s hair, brushing it away from his cheek and looping it behind his ear. “But you’re still recovering. You need a bed.”

“No, it’s --”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Josselin said gently. “Take the bed. Please. I want you to, okay?”

Meara bit his lip and nuzzled further into Josselin’s shoulder. Finally, he nodded in the soft fabric of his boyfriend’s sleeve. Even after being down in the shop all day, he still smelled of the frankincense and myrrh he’d burned that morning, along with the sharp, chemical smell of ink.

“Okay,” Meara mumbled.

Josselin led Meara down the short hallway and past the bathroom down to the bedroom. Meara had never been anywhere but the living room and kitchen before. The room was bigger than he’d expected, big enough for a queen sized bed with room left for bookshelves and two dressers. One of them had a thin blue cloth draped over it, covering all the knick-knacks and other things in a lumpy landscape.

“What’s that?” Meara asked.

Josselin followed his gaze to the dresser. “My altar,” he said. “I like to keep it covered when I’m not working, even if I’m not expecting people over. Do you want a cup of tea or water or anything?”

“Do you have mint tea?”

“Peppermint.”

“Yes, please.”

“All right,” Josselin said. He helped Meara into bed and tucked the blanket around his shoulders. He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead and Meara smiled weakly.

“I’d give you a real kiss but I‘m not sure if I’m still contagious,” he said.

Josselin just smiled. “There will be plenty of time for that when you’re better.” He brushed Meara’s hair back out of his face and ran his fingertips down his cheek, dragging them over his shoulder and lingering for a moment before he left to make the tea.

When Josselin came back into the room, Meara was asleep. Peppermint tea was no good lukewarm -- it had to be either scalding hot or ice cold -- so Josselin took it for himself and went back and forth from the kitchen again to bring a cup of water to leave on the bedside table beside Meara in case he woke up in the night. Carefully, quietly, he dug some pajamas out of his clothing dresser, and he tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door just a crack open behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at indecentpause.tumblr.com !


	14. Chapter 14

Josselin was up early, as always, and Meara not much later. They stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and talking as they sipped at their morning coffee and Meara related his first day back in the flower shop. The thick, heavy smell of frankincense and myrrh drifted in through the walkway to the living room.

“It was just so weird,” he finally finished. He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Nobody’s ever asked me for weed before. And I’ve never heard anyone call it marijuana except --”

He stopped short and Josselin looked up from his mug. “Meara?”

“It was an undercover cop,” Meara said. “My fucking mother falsely reported me to the cops.”

“Your mother?” Josselin repeated. “Are you sure?”

Meara turned to Josselin with a frown. “Who else would it be? I’ve never sold anything illegal or even legal drugs like wormwood and mandrake. Why would a customer do it? You saw how angry she was at the hospital. I wouldn’t…”

Josselin paused, but Meara didn’t continue. “You wouldn’t…?”

“I did a one card reading yesterday about the situation. It was The Empress reversed. It had to be her. There’s nobody else it could be. The idea crossed my mind yesterday but I didn’t really put it together for real until just now.”

“It could have just been random?” Josselin suggested tentatively.

“At a florist’s? Unlikely. Maybe at a greenhouse. But not a place like mine.”

Josselin sighed and put his cup on the counter, then crossed his arms. He pushed his messy hair out of his face, leaving it sticking out at odd angles. Meara chuckled and smoothed it down. Josselin caught his hand, holding it against his neck, leaning into its warmth.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “But, I mean, you sent him away. You don’t even have anything to sell if you wanted to. That should be the end of it, right?”

“I hope so,” Meara murmured. He took another sip of his coffee and turned away. “Just be careful,” he finally said. He turned back to Josselin again. “If she finds out you’re working next door, she might try to go after you, too. Accuse you of using dirty needles or something.”

Josselin looked affronted at even the thought of such an accusation. “Would she really?” he asked softly.

“She might,” Meara said. He sighed heavily and picked his mug back up, gazing into the dark brown coffee. “I know you and your mom were like, best friends, Josselin, but not everyone has a family like that. Mrs. Yazdi is more my mom than my mother is. Her whole family is more my family than my birth one. Danny’s my brother in every way but blood.”

Josselin looked down at his feet, clutching his mug close to his chest. What could he say to an admittance like that? _I’m sorry_? Stupid. Meaningless.

“My mom’s a narcissist,” Meara continued. “Everything is all about her, all the time. How good or bad or inconvenient it makes things, _for her_. And because of my depression, I was an inconvenience.”

“Wait, what?” Josselin’s head jerked up from the floor. Depression? Meara had never said a word about it.

“Yeah,” Meara said. “I’m fine, now that I’m properly medicated. But for a long time I wasn’t and it was too big a bother for her to try to help me. Mrs. Yazdi did everything she could, but since she’s not my legal guardian, it wasn’t much. Just yell at my mom a lot over the phone.”

“Did you get your medication yesterday? Will you get it today? Are you going to be all right after spending the night here? Are --”

“Josselin, breathe,” Meara chuckled. “I’m fine. I take my meds in the morning, and ever since I got stuck overnight without them at Danny’s once, I always keep a couple extras on me.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and waggled it back and forth. “I have a tiny pill box in here. I just took them downstairs last time because I wasn’t ready to explain it to you, yet.”

“But… you are now?” Josselin said hopefully. His hands loosened a little on his mug.

Meara smiled. “I think so. It’s just not the kind of thing you tell someone you just met, you know?”

“I understand. That night was kind of unconventional.” Josselin paused and took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “I want you to know if you ever need to talk about it, or anything related, I’m here, okay?”

Meara’s smile widened. “Thank you, Josselin.”

* * *

 

Meara took his medication up in Josselin’s apartment shortly after the conversation. Since his boyfriend knew, now, there was nothing to hide anymore. He slid the blue pill box back in his wallet and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. He finished the cup of water Josselin had drawn for him and put the cup in the sink.

“I’ve got to get down to the shop,” he said. He stood up straight and kissed the corner of Josselin’s mouth. Josselin turned into it, kissing him back properly. When Meara pulled away, he was smiling.

“I’m feeling much better,” he said. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Always,” Josselin said. “If you want, you can bring over a bag of clothes sometime, so when it happens again you’ll have something clean to change into.”

“What?”

Josselin hesitated. “I mean, _if_ it happens again?” His voice was unsure.

“No, I mean… you’d want me to stay over again?”

“Well… yeah,” Josselin said. “Even if you don’t _have_ to. Even if we just sleep. I like having you here. You fit.”

Meara smiled, shyly, but so brightly. “I love my apartment too much for it to become a daily thing,” he said, “but… yeah. I could stay over again some time in the future.”

When Josselin kissed him, it finally sunk in. Meara knew he was right. They fit.

* * *

 

Meara had been open about two hours and had a handful of good customers when a woman walked by his front door with a clipboard and a badge of some kind pinned to her lapel. Oh, no, was it a health inspector? What she here for Jussi? Business had been hard for him in the in between months of autumn and he couldn’t afford to get written up for something.

But the woman backtracked and looked up at the sign above the door, then entered the shop. She looked around, and her eyes fell on Meara.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have somewhere more private we can talk for a minute? I don’t think you want to have this conversation in front of potential customers.”

“What?” Meara’s face went cold and his eyes darted down to her badge.

“I’m with the city,” she said. “My name’s Liza. I’m with the health department.”

“I… yeah, back this way.”

Meara led her into the back, trying to keep her eyes away from the altar. He didn’t want to answer any awkward questions. She looked down at her clipboard and said, “We got a call from someone complaining that they saw a rat in your store.”

Meara’s eyes went wide. A rat? _Here_?

“Oh my Gods,” he said.

“Yeah,” Liza said.

“Whoever called you didn’t tell me anything about it. I haven’t seen anything, any droppings or weird movements. Of course you can look around. If there really is something here I want to know so I can take care of it.”

“Thank you,” she said. At least she seemed nice, if businesslike. She turned around and led them back into the main room.

 _Please be still,_ Meara willed the fae. _Please be still. Don’t move until she leaves._

The store was still as Liza poked around at the plants, looking back in all the corners and up against the walls. About five minutes later, she approached Meara and said, “I don’t see anything. This is actually one of the cleanest stores I’ve ever been in, and that’s saying something since you work so much with dirt and soil.”

Meara smiled nervously and nodded. He rubbed his hands on his jeans anxiously, a nervous habit.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Someone will be back in about a month to check up again,” she said. “Thanks for your time. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

Meara shook his hand in front of his face. “No, no, it’s fine. If there were a problem I would have wanted to know right away so I could fix it.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said. “It’s possible they saw it outside and only thought it came from your store. Keep an eye out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Liza left, Meara glanced up at the clock. Ten minutes until his lunch break. Liza had just scoured his store, but he needed to see for himself, so he flipped the sign to closed. He’d just open back up ten minutes earlier to make up for it. He grabbed a flashlight from underneath the desk so he could see into the deeper corners behind all the plants, he scanned the wainscoting, he checked everything in the back. No holes, no crumbs, no droppings or stains anywhere. No indication of anything digging in or gnawing at the plants. Who had seen it? And where?

Did Josselin know?

Meara stood up on his toes so he could peer through the glass wall. Josselin was sitting with his chair tilted back, balancing on his ankles as he read a book. He wasn’t seeing anyone. Meara ran next door and gestured Josselin to follow him through the back, around the corner and underneath the stairwell that led up to his apartment.

“Meara?” he asked. His book still hung loosely from his hand, his thumb acting as a bookmark.

“Someone from Public Health was just over at my store,” he said. “She said someone called complaining that they saw a rat. We didn’t find anything, so maybe it was outside? But have you seen anything around?”

Josselin shook his head. He opened his mouth, then stopped abruptly, and whatever he was going to say came out instead as, “Was it your mom?”

“What?”

“Your mother. Do you think she did it? If there was no proof that there was anything anywhere? Because of what happened at the hospital?”

Meara stared blankly at Josselin for a few moments.

“I mean, if she’d call the police to make up some phony story about --“

“Fuck,” Meara whispered. Josselin flinched. His boyfriend hardly ever swore. Meara ran his hand through his hair, tugging softly at the nape of his neck. “ _Dammit_.” He sighed, dragging his hand over his mouth, bumping his glasses and knocking them askew as he did. “You’re probably right. Why the hell didn’t I think of that? I guess…” He trailed off and rubbed at his forehead. “I guess that’s good. I didn’t get written up for anything. If she called in another fake complaint that means there’s no rat, which is what I was most worried about.”

Josselin curled his hand around the back of Meara’s neck and squeezed gently.

“Just try to give it time,” he said. “Eventually making all these fake calls will become more an inconvenience than anything else and she’ll quit, right?”

Meara shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “She’s never been out for me like this before. My _store_ , Josselin!” He dropped his voice so nobody out in front would hear. “This is my livelihood! How I pay my bills! The reason I’m not homeless! And she’s trying to shut it down!”

“And we’re _sure_ it’s her?” Josselin said.

Meara nodded. “Who else would it be? One day after the other? It can’t be a coincidence.”

Josselin rubbed at his chin with his knuckles thoughtfully and said, “If you’re willing to give me some information, I could cast --”

“I’m not going to ask you to cast a hex on my behalf. I won’t let you do anything I wouldn’t be willing to do myself.”

Josselin held his hand up, book still loose in his fingers. “Okay,” he said. “It was just a suggestion.”

“I know, you’re just trying to help,” Meara sighed. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his face, then readjusted his glasses and said, “I’m going to run over to Jussi’s for a cup of coffee. You want anything?”

Josselin peered out into the main room. Everything was as it had been when Meara pulled him back.

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “Do a coffee run for the shop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at indecentpause.tumblr.com !


	15. Chapter 15

Josephine was behind the cash register when they walked in, and the first thing she said was, “Meara, you look _exhausted_.”

Meara chuckled wryly, but didn’t deny it.

“Want an extra shot in your drink? On me.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

The two men started with just their drinks and Josselin led Meara to a small, two-person table in the corner where they could continue to talk privately.

“If you don’t want a curse,” Josselin finally ventured to say, “I could work up some kind of protective magic. In the meantime, I could give you some war water to sprinkle around your store. And probably your apartment.”

Meara stirred his coffee absently. Josselin was already halfway through his, and Meara hadn’t even taken a sip.

“I’m not entirely sure what that is,” Meara finally said. “I don’t have a lot of experience with magic outside of the fairy work I do, which isn’t really… it’s not spellwork. It’s intuitive work. It’s different.”

“It’s basically just oxidized iron nails in water, if you break it down to its parts,” Josselin said. “But when you put it together it’s a lot more powerful than that. It’s a protective substance. All you need is a sprinkle to protect you. It won’t stop her from making phone calls and all that bullshit, but it’ll keep you safe from any potential repercussions.”

Meara’s head jerked up when Josselin swore. He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry. She’s just really pissing me off.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t offend me. You should see the things Stacey says when he gets angry,” Meara laughed. “It just always surprises me. I know I’ve known you for a while, but sometimes you still seem too mellow to swear.” He shook his head and finally tried his coffee. Very, very strong. He’d be going for hours after this. _Thanks, Josephine_. “But, anyway, lets try that. After hours, tonight?”

Josselin nodded. “I have an appointment at six, but it’s just a small inner arm piece, so it should only take forty five minutes or so. You can come hang out with us, or wait at my place, or come back over here or whatever.”

“I’ll come hang out with you,” Meara said.

Josselin smiled.

* * *

 

The rest of the day, was, thankfully, uneventful. At 6:00, Meara locked up and went next door. Josselin was already with his appointment, so Meara let him be and approached Sara, instead.

“Hey!” she grinned.

“Hey.”

“Josselin told us you’d be stopping by,” she said. She put her magazine down and pulled a stool out from between her and the wall. She pushed it out to the side of the desk. “Have a seat,” she said. “He shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Meara sat, propping up his feet on the bar between the stool’s legs. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “A little better at least, if you’re back to work?”

Meara looked up from his hands, between his legs. “I’m still really tired, but I’m getting there,” he said. He offered a weak smile. Sara smiled back sympathetically.

“I feel you,” she said. “I got hit hard by the flu last year. It sucks.”

They made small talk for a while, pausing occasionally so Sara could ring up a client or answer the phone. Eventually, Meara grew quiet, too tired to try to force a conversation he wasn’t sure how to have, and Sara went back to her magazine. Finally, Josselin’s client approached the desk so he could pay, and Josselin rested his hand on Meara’s shoulder.

“You ready?” he asked.

Meara nodded.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to get everything together. Do you want to come up with me?”

“I’d rather not do the stairs,” Meara said weakly. “I still have to walk down to the bus stop after this.”

“Okay, not a problem.”

* * *

 

Josselin went straight to his fridge and pulled out from the very back and very bottom a jar full of nails and rusty water. He gathered together two smaller jars and a spray bottle to strain some into, then ran back to his room for a few sticks of incense and a vial of black salt. Once he’d gotten everything together in a canvas bag, he jumped back downstairs to where Meara was still waiting for him at Sara’s desk. Sara was chattering away, but Meara looked exhausted. Sara was wonderful, but she could be a bit much to handle sometimes. It looked like Josselin was just in time to offer an escape.

He dropped a kiss to the top of Meara’s head and said, “Let’s go.” He waved at Sara and said, “I’ll be back in about five or ten minutes.”

Meara followed Josselin out and they went back to his store, flipping the light on and locking the door behind them. Meara double checked that the sign was flipped to “Closed” and they began.

Josselin started with the spray bottle. He sprayed around both rooms, along the walls, in all the corners, while muttering something to himself that Meara couldn’t make out. He carefully avoided spraying any of the plants or dirt and took extra care around the doorway.

When he was done, he switched it out for the vial of black salt. He opened the door and poured it in a thin line along the doorframe, then closed and locked it again.

“And now, to seal it,” he said, “we’re going to burn these.” He dug two of the four sticks of incense out of his bag. “Lavender and gardenia. Burn them somewhere they won’t hit the smoke detector, and when they’ve gone out, you’ll be good to go.” He pulled a small jar of rusty water out of his bag, barely an ounce large. “Put this somewhere safe, where you won’t have to explain it to anyone. Preferably by a window or door if you can.”

“I’ll put it in the back room by the back door,” Meara said. He took the jar and tilted it left, then right.

“Just do what I did here at your apartment to be sure her shit doesn’t start bouncing over there instead,” Josselin said. “While you’re spraying the water, say a simple incantation like, ‘My home is a safe, protected space and no negativity can come here.’ Whatever feels most comfortable for you with that basic message.”

Meara nodded. “Thank you, Josselin,” he whispered. He threw his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. They kissed, warm, soft lips, callused hands on each other’s hips.

Josselin was the one to finally break the kiss so he could whisper, “I’ve got to get back to the shop. Take care of yourself and let me know how things go tomorrow, okay?”

Meara nodded again and kissed Josselin’s chin. “Okay."

* * *

 

After Josselin left, Meara turned off the main lights and flicked on the lamp he kept at his work desk for when he needed to stay after hours and didn’t want to be bothered. He placed the jar where Josselin had told him to and lit the incense in the back, where there was no smoke detector. There wasn’t a door to separate the rooms, but there would be enough space between them.

But he stayed with the incense just in case. He pulled out a book from the small pile he kept in the corner and skimmed through as the incense burned out and its fragrant, floral scent wafted through the room. It took about half an hour, and Meara was falling asleep in his chair by the time it was done, but he could feel the difference already -- this was a safe place, now. Even the shyest of the brownies started to show their little shadowy selves. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy -- his mother would still find people to call and make up complaints to -- but at least now his store would be safe from anything they might want to do otherwise.

Now he just had to get home, follow Josselin’s instructions, and make sure his apartment was safe, too.

* * *

 

Although the next few days were uneventful and normal, Meara was still on edge the whole time, waiting for something terrible to happen. It couldn’t be as easy as spraying some water and lighting some incense, could it? But he knew he _had_ to believe in it, not only because he had no other options, but because he knew magic worked. It was no different than what he did with the fae. Josselin just used different tools, that was all.

On Tuesday, someone new from Public Health and Safety came in, saying that someone had complained that he didn’t have a smoke detector. Meara pointed it out, right in the middle of the ceiling, and although the woman was obviously frustrated about being sent out for nothing, she didn’t take it out on him. She apologized for any inconvenience, and she left.

_No smoke detector? She must be getting desperate. Maybe she’ll give up soon._

Around 12:30, his cell phone rang. Meara frowned and pulled it out of his pocket. It was his mother. Of course. Nobody else but Josselin ever called. Stacey, Adam, and Danny always texted. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he answered with a tired,

“Hello?”

“You sound exhausted.” And she sounded much too pleased about that.

“It’s just been a long morning,” he lied.

“Things going rough at the store?” Her voice was saccharine sweet, dripping from her tongue like venom.

“No,” he lied again. “Things are great, actually. I have tons of business, thank the Gods, after having to close for so long.” At least that part was true.

“That’s… great.” He could hear her smile fading. He smirked. Hopefully this wouldn’t make things worse. But maybe hearing that her attempts were wasted would discourage her.

Her negative energy seeped through the phone line in a dark grey cloud. Absently, he crossed his ankles and pressed the clear quartz crystal of the bracelet Stacey had given him last night against his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. He forced the smile to stay in his voice, hoping it sounded more authentic than the fake one on his face looked. “It’s pretty lucky things went so smoothly when I came back. But my roommates kept an eye on the store for me while I was out, so that helped a lot.” Josselin had done a large chunk of work, too, but Meara knew better than to push it. Maybe this, in conjunction with the spell Josselin had helped him cast, would be enough to put a stop to his mother’s petty behavior.

“Well,” he said, “I have to get back to work, so --”

“No, you don’t,” his mother snapped. “I know you’re on your lunch break.”

Meara wilted, sinking down into his chair as if she were towering right in front of him. He pressed his ankles tighter together and pushed the bracelet harder against his lips. He wasn’t sure why that was so comforting, but the fact that he could find anything comforting at all in this situation was a gift from the Gods.

“Yeah, but I have errands to run. Some places are closed when I shut down, so I need to get it done on my break. My lunch break isn’t a break, really. It’s just time to do other things outside of the store and maybe eat something.” It wasn’t _entirely_ a lie. Sometimes he did spend his whole lunch running errands. It didn’t matter that today he only needed to eat and sweep the store. His mother didn’t need to know any different.

_This won’t keep out negativity that you bring in yourself._

Josselin’s words from last night suddenly came back to him, and he said quickly, “I’m sorry, Mom, I really have to go. But you can call me back tomorrow after six if you want to talk.”

He knew she wouldn’t, but hopefully keeping that line open would keep her from getting too angry.

“Meara Ryanne --”

“I’m sorry, I just have a lot of stuff to do, and I don’t know if I’m even going to have time to get it all done during my break.”

He hung up the phone and held it in trembling hands, staring at the screen and waiting, stomach heavy with anticipation, for his mother to call back.

Five minutes later, and she still hadn’t. He exhaled, slow and heavy, and stood, slipping his phone back into his pocket and rubbing the tension out of the back of his neck. When he got back into the main room, the broom was out and the dustpan beside it full of dirt and leaves.

“Th--”

He caught himself before the ‘thank you’ came out.

“That’ll be a big help,” he said.

* * *

 

Meara stopped by Josselin’s shop again after work, this time with a bag of clothes and a spare toothbrush to take upstairs, as well as a bottle with three extra antidepressants in case he forgot to fill his pill-box. He never had and he didn’t think he would, but it made him feel a little more secure about needing -- or wanting -- to stay the night again.

Like, maybe tonight, if Josselin had nothing else going on.

At this exact moment, he didn’t, so Meara walked up behind him and leaned his hip on Josselin’s desk, curling his hand around the soft hair in his ponytail.

“Hey,” he whispered. Josselin leaned back slightly and smiled.

“Hey.”

“We can finish this later,” one of the other artists said. A big, burly brunet man covered from what Meara assumed was neck to foot in ink. Christian, he thought he’d heard?

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Meara asked.

Christian shook his head and waved Meara’s concern away as he turned back to a sketchbook laid out on his desk.

“I was just telling him a stupid story about my boyfriend. We can finish later.”

“Thank God,” the other artist said. A short, thin, angular man with dusky brown skin and shoulder to elbow half-sleeves. Dante? “I think I might puke if I have to hear another one of your stories.”

“You’re just pissed because you can’t even get anyone of any gender to look at you and I’ve got all of them falling all over me,” Christian said. “And I don’t even need them.”

Dante flipped him off, but laughed, and went back to his own sketchbook.

Josselin laughed and turned his chair around as Meara loosened his hands. He placed his hands on Meara’s hips and glanced down at the backpack.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Clothes and stuff,” Meara said. “Remember?”

Josselin’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Of course! I just didn’t realize you were bringing them along today. Do you want to leave them with me, or…?”

“Actually,” Meara dropped his voice. He didn’t want any ribbing from Josselin’s coworkers. “I was hoping maybe I could stay with you tonight? All the nights before have been out of necessity but I thought it might be nice to just… have a night. Just for us. We could eat dinner and have coffee and talk or watch crappy movies or something.”

Josselin grinned. “I’d love that!” He pulled his keys out of his desk and handed them to Meara. “Go ahead and drop your stuff off. My last appointment should be done around 9:00 if you want to go wander around, or you can hang out here. I have some take-out menus up in the kitchen you can go through. You can decide where we eat.”

Meara grinned back, like Josselin had just given him the best gift in the entire world. “Okay,” he laughed. “I’ll go see what you’ve got.”

“You can also go through any of the books in the living room or watch a movie if you want. Make a pot of coffee, whatever. Make yourself at home.”

Meara’s smile softened and he pressed a gentle kiss to Josselin’s mouth. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Well, yeah,” Josselin whispered back, like it was the most obvious thing he could have done.

* * *

 

Meara puttered around the apartment for a while, looking through menus and books and Josselin’s Netflix account, and he was about to give up because he couldn’t find anything interesting and go out for a walk when a movie about a boy with a clock for a heart caught his eye. He stretched on the couch with a cup of coffee -- with amaretto, but just a drop, this time -- and sank down as the movie began.

Within a half hour, he was asleep.

He woke up again when Josselin knocked on the door, nearly spilling the half-full, now cold cup of coffee precariously balanced on his stomach. He blinked and rubbed at the back of his neck, then stood, leaving the coffee in the kitchen on his way through to the front door.

“Hey. Sorry, I forgot to bring your keys back down.”

Josselin smiled and shook his head. “No worries. I knew you were still here since you hadn’t come back through.”

Meara smiled and Josselin asked, “Have you eaten anything?”

Meara shook his head.

“Did you get to look at the menus and decide what you wanted?”

Meara led Josselin back into the kitchen as he said, “This Japanese restaurant caught my eye. We could get vegan sushi.”

“Sounds good,” Josselin said. Meara poured himself another cup of coffee and turned the heat coil off. He took a sip. Starting to taste a little stale. He poured in a little amaretto to cover it, and Josselin smirked.

“What?” Meara laughed. “It’s good! And I’m only using a little bit this time. No drunk Meara tonight. Promise.”

They ordered a 48 piece. Since there would be no fish to go bad, they could have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. They were in the middle of their late-night rush, so it would be about forty-five minutes, the woman on the phone said.

“That’s fine,” Josselin said. “The delivery person will have to go in through the alleyway. There’s a gate with a buzzer. I’m the only apartment. J. Clearwater.”

She paused to write everything down and said, “All right, Mr. Clearwater. We’ll have it over as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

Josselin hung up his phone and gestured Meara to follow him into the living room, where they went through his Netflix to find another movie. Finally, they decided on a film adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Josselin started laughing at nearly the beginning of the film, but Meara didn’t quite understand all the jokes, so his boyfriend leaned in closer to whisper explanations in his ear. Josselin’s warm body was pressed flush against Meara’s, soothing and comforting and a little exciting, and then Josselin started to kiss his ear after each explanation and a long-forgotten thrill shot through Meara’s spine. Eventually they ended up lying on top of each other on the couch, sharing kisses and touches, hands tentatively peeking underneath the hems of each others’ shirts. Josselin slid his hand higher up, to Meara’s stomach, and Meara froze underneath him. Josselin stilled.

“Meara?” He pulled back to better see his boyfriend’s expression. It was nervous, worried, not quite afraid, but almost. “Are you okay?”

Meara swallowed and nodded, but Josselin wasn’t sure he believed him. He backed up, sitting at Meara’s feet and pulling him up to sit beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

Meara looked down at his feet and crossed his hands in his lap, half fiddling with the bracelet from Stacey.

“Meara?”

“I’m just not a very sexual person,” Meara muttered. He looked down at his feet and pressed his knees together. Josselin rested his hand low on his boyfriend’s thigh.

“That’s okay,” he whispered. “Are… do you mean, are you asexual?”

Meara shook his head. “No, no. I just don’t have much of a drive. You’re gorgeous, Josselin. And I care about you so much. And I _want_ to. That’s not the issue. My meds just kill my libido and so I don’t want to do much of anything sexual most of the time.”

Josselin’s hand tightened on Meara’s leg. “Do you mean you don’t _like_ sex?”

“No, I _do._ Like, it’s great and all. It’s fun. It feels good. It’s just, most of the time, I don’t have any drive to do anything about it. It’s just not important. Sometimes I forget it’s even an option until we get into really heavy making out and I’m like, oh, _oh yeah_ , that’s a _thing_.”

“Is that why you’ve stopped me every time?” Josselin asked. “Because you don’t want to go any further?”

“Not…” Meara trailed off with a huff. “It’s not that, not exactly. Because once we get to that point, I do kind of start to feel it. I guess I’m just… I’m just scared I’ll mess it up because it’s been so long and I was never very good at it to begin --”

Josselin gently kissed Meara’s temple and Meara stopped abruptly.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Josselin whispered. “It’s okay. _Nobody’s_ good at it to begin with. I was an absolute _disaster_. And if you don’t have much of a sex drive, you haven’t had much reason to practice, yeah?”

Meara nodded.

“So, let’s just pause for now,” Josselin said. “And if we feel like it, we’ll come back, and if we don’t, we won’t. And whatever happens, happens, and that’s okay. Okay?”

Meara nodded. Josselin picked up the remote control and rewound the movie, and they picked up where they left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late update, everyone! But we're almost there, just one more chapter left!
> 
> As always, you can visit me at indecentpause.tumblr.com !


	16. Chapter 16

The calls started the next night at 8:00. Meara was just helping Stacey finish dinner and they were about to sit down to eat with Adam when the first one came. He ignored it, not even checking the caller ID. He was hungry, he missed homecooked food, and he’d barely had the chance to eat dinner with his roommates since he got out of the hospital for one reason or another. If it was Josselin, he’d call back later. If it was one of the Yazdis, they’d assume he was eating and leave a message.

And if it was his mom, he didn’t want to talk to her, anyway.

The three friends lingered over their food for hours. Stacey had insisted on Greek food that night -- _I’ve been craving it like crazy,_ he’d said -- so, since neither of them had any experience cooking it, they’d pulled up some recipes and articles on Meara’s laptop and gone to work.

It was delicious. Meara was a little worried about the abundance of lemon, but it turned out perfect. He had a smile on his face through the whole meal -- he’d done something for the first time and it had turned out right with no mistakes. With all the problems with his mother, he’d briefly forgotten that was even possible. His friends helped, but his mother still held so much power over him, and he _hated_ it.

At 10:00, Meara’s phone rang again. The plates were all empty, now, personal and serving alike. This time, Stacey signed, _Go ahead. We’ll take care of the dishes._

_But it’s my turn,_ Meara signed back.

Stacey grinned. _You can just do mine next time._

Meara laughed and stood, jogging to his bedroom to try to reach his phone in time. He unplugged it from the charger as he answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hello!?” his mother screeched. “Don’t you ‘hello’ me. After I went all that way to the hospital only to have that nurse kick me out, and now you can’t even answer your phone?”

“But… I’m right here?” Meara said unsurely. Clearly he _had_ answered the phone, or they wouldn’t be talking. But he knew saying so aloud would make her worse, so he didn’t.

“I’m talking about my call earlier,” she snapped.

“Oh!” Oh. _Oh._ Meara swallowed. “Sorry, it was in the other room. I heard it, but I was making dinner, so I figured I’d get to it later. I had no idea it was you. We literally just finished eating dinner and I hadn’t gotten back to my phone yet. Sorry.”

He said it even though he wasn’t.

Silence on the other end. For a moment, Meara thought she’d hung up on him. Just as he was about to check his phone for a connection, she finally said, “Don’t do it again.”

“Mom, I can’t promise I’ll always be able to get to my phone,” he said softly. “I’m really busy. The best I can do is promise to always call back as soon as I can.”

“I see,” his mother said. “So it’s okay to drag me out to the hospital when you have no intention of letting me stay, but you can’t pick up your phone when I call you?”

“Mom, that was an accident.” Meara’s voice was almost a plaintive whine. “The nurse screwed up. I didn’t ask her to call you. I didn’t mean to drag you all the way out there.”

“Either way, _you_ didn’t want to see me. Your own mother.”

_Because you always do this._ But Meara didn’t say so out loud, afraid of making her even angrier. How could he get away from her? How could he gracefully end this conversation?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t think of a way out, so he sat crosslegged in his bed, wrapped up in a soft blanket until his mother got tired of yelling and berating ten minutes later and hung up without so much as a goodbye.

He should have just been glad the conversation was finally over. But instead, he just felt like a trash heap.

* * *

 

The abusive calls didn’t stop. When Meara didn’t answer the phone, Danielle left voicemails, yelling at him for minutes. Eventually Meara stopped listening to them completely, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore her calls when he was able to answer. Sometimes she would scream and rage for almost a half hour before tiring herself out and hanging up on him.

Everyone noticed the difference. The once quiet but happy Meara had withdrawn into a fragile shell, flinching any time someone raised their voice or lifted a hand when he wasn’t expecting it. It was the third night in a row that he’d shied away from Josselin’s gentle advances when his boyfriend finally confronted him about it.

“Meara, what’s going on?”

Meara pressed his knees together and looked away, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“Please, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Meara shook his head.

“What did I do?”

Meara whirled back to Josselin, his mouth half-open, poised to answer. Nothing came out. Finally, he whispered,

“No. It’s not you. I promise.”

“You sure?” Josselin asked gently. “Have I been too pushy?” His advances had been small -- attempts at hand-holding, chaste kisses, running his fingers through Meara’s hair. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t too much.

Meara shook his head. “No, it’s not… it’s not you. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re perfect.”

Josselin smiled wryly. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Meara gently ran his fingers over the sunflower on Josselin’s neck. Josselin’s eyes slipped closed and he hummed happily.

“Seriously,” he whispered. Meara stilled, fingers lingering on one of the large petals. “What’s wrong?”

Meara dropped his hand and Josselin opened his eyes.

“It’s my mother,” Meara said. “She won’t stop calling me and screaming at me. She hasn’t attacked my store again, but this is almost worse, because I can’t deal with her through other people. I can deal with an undercover cop or a health inspector. But I just lock up when it’s my mom. I panic and freeze and don’t know what to do.”

“Have you thought about changing your phone number?”

Meara looked up from his hands. “What?”

“If you change your phone number she’ll have no way to contact you.”

“Unless she comes into my store.”

Josselin paused. He brushed Meara’s curly brown hair away from his glasses and tucked it behind his boyfriend’s ear. “You think she’d do that?”

Meara sighed and deflated. “I don’t know. She lives kind of far away. I don’t think she’d make that trip just to yell at me. She’s horrible, but she hates traveling.”

“I think the Verizon store is open until 10:00,” Josselin offered. He looked up at the clock. “You’re Verizon, right?”

Meara nodded.

“It’s only 8:00 now. I could drive you.”

Meara bit his lip. It was passive aggressive and maybe childish, but if he _did_ change his number, he wouldn’t have to stand up to his mother, he wouldn’t have to try to convince her to stop calling. She’d have no choice but to.

* * *

 

The number change was quick and easy. All Meara had to say was that he was being harassed, and the woman behind the counter took care of it then and there. Josselin and Meara stood side by side on the sidewalk just outside the door as Meara looked at his phone, the same old model he’d had for five years, but now free of his mother. He sent a quick text to the few people he wanted to have it -- Stacey, Adam, Danny and his parents -- simply saying who he was and that this was his number, now. If anyone asked, he’d explain. But he’d rather them not know how pathetic he was, to let his mother control his life even though he was twenty-one years old.

“You did the right thing,” Josselin whispered. “You don’t deserve to have anyone treat you that way. It’s okay to cut out family if they’re toxic.”

* * *

 

For the next few days, Meara jumped whenever his phone went off, whether it was a text or a call. But it was never his mother. It was always Stacey or Danny or Mrs. Yazdi or Josselin. Finally, he started to unwind and relax a little. He stopped flinching away from people, even though sometimes he still wanted to. He started smiling more, laughing and joking, even though sometimes it was weak and took a lot of effort. He didn’t shy away from Josselin’s touches anymore.

In about two weeks, he could even forget about her sometimes, no longer dealing with her shadow or her anger hovering at the back of his mind. He couldn’t forget her completely, but there were times he didn’t think about her anymore, and it was a start.

Until a month later when he approached his storefront on Tuesday morning and saw her waiting at the door, peering inside through the window. He froze where he stood on the corner, squinting and leaning forward, trying to tell if it really was her. Was he really sure?

But then she glanced over her shoulder and caught his eye, and it was too late. He couldn’t duck back around the corner or slip into Jussi’s and wait for her to get bored and leave. She’d seen him, and she’d probably follow if he turned around.

He crossed the street and approached his shop. His fingers trembled in the late-autumn air, but not because of the cold. Danielle was wearing her brown jacket, the one she always wore when she’d picked him up from school and spent the entire ride home berating him for the fact that they lived too far for him to take the bus. Her scarf was loose, her slacks tailored, dressed immaculately like always. A beautiful exterior despite all the ugliness underneath, waiting to burst out of her mouth.

He approached his mother hesitantly, trying hard to appear confident but knowing he was failing, just like he failed at everything. He raised his hand and opened his mouth to greet her, but before he could speak, she slapped him hard across the cheek. Meara stumbled back a few steps, his hand shooting to the stinging skin. It was hot. His whole face burned.

“What --”

“Why didn’t you tell me you changed your phone number? Are you trying to avoid me? After all I’ve done for you?”

Meara froze beneath her cold glare. He glanced up at the window above the tattoo parlor that opened into Josselin’s apartment, trying to will him not to hear the altercation so he wouldn’t come down.

She continued to berate him, her voice growing louder and louder until she was screaming, and people walking past across the street paused to see what all the commotion was about, but nobody approached to try to help.

“I can’t believe all the trouble you’re constantly causing me! It’s disgusting!” she shouted.

Meara swallowed hard, willing back the tears that threatened to start welling up. His hand clenched into a fist as he tried to steel himself against her voice and her words, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, Josselin’s voice rang in his head:

_This won’t keep out negativity that you bring in yourself._

“You need to leave.” His voice was just a shaky whisper.

“ _What_?” Danielle hissed.

“You need to leave,” Meara repeated. _Josselin is just upstairs if I need him. Jussi is just across the street. I have backup._ “If you don’t, I’m going to call the police and have you arrested for assault.”

“ _Assault_?” she scoffed.

“You slapped me.” Meara was barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. “That’s assault. I’m giving you the chance to leave now, but if you don’t, I’m calling the police.”

She frowned and glowered, and for a moment, Meara thought she was going to stay and fight and he wasn’t sure whether he would be able to back up his words with action. But then she huffed sharply and spun around, storming away and back to wherever she had parked her car. He knew she had. She’d never stoop to taking the bus. That was for people like _him_.

Once she was out of sight, he collapsed against the brick wall between his shop and Josselin’s, taking in a deep, shaky breath. He rubbed at his eyes with shaking fingers, knocking his glasses askew. He cleaned off the smudges on his shirt and righted them, then stood and dusted off his front, as if he’d actually been pushed into the dirt and stepped on instead of just feeling like he had.

He unlocked the door, flipped the sign to open, and turned on the light.

* * *

 

Not long after, the front door opened and Jussi walked in. He peered around at the different plants -- in all the time Meara’s shop had been there, Jussi had never been inside -- then approached the counter and caught Meara’s averted eyes with a small wave.

“Hey,” he said gently.

Meara looked up. His left cheek was still bright red and starting to bruise. Jussi hissed sympathetically through his teeth.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Meara nodded, but didn’t verbally reply.

“Josephine told me what happened,” Jussi said. “She saw everything from across the street. I just wanted to let you know, if you decide to file a report with the police, she’s agreed to give a statement.”

Meara nodded again, but still didn’t speak. Jussi took the hint, and began to turn around. He paused and turned back, gesturing at his left cheek.

“You may already know this, but if you mix some arrowroot powder with a little water and make a paste for your bruise, it’ll help suck some of the sting out. I read that in a book once. Worth a try, anyway. If you don’t have any, I have some in the kitchen. We use it to make the shortbread cookies.”

Meara finally smiled weakly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’ll bring it over when I have another minute,” Jussi said. “Depending on how busy it gets, that could be a while, though.”

Meara shook his head. “That’s fine. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Jussi tucked a stray strand of blond hair underneath his bandana and smiled back. “Take care of yourself,” he said. “If you need _anything_ , just let us know, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Danielle didn’t come back that day, or the next, or the next. With each day that passed, Meara was able to relax just a little more, until the fear of his mother became just a pale shadow behind his shoulder, impossible to get rid of, but easy to ignore. He and Josselin did another cleansing of his shop to beef up his protection charms, and while the energy within his shop and his apartment changed substantially, his stayed groggy and sad. Josselin noticed immediately, and even Jussi, Gabriel, and Josephine eventually started asking, “Are you all right, Meara?”

But he wasn’t. He might have gotten rid of his mother temporarily, but it was only a matter of time before she came back, like she always did. She couldn’t call him on his personal phone anymore, and she didn’t know his address, but she knew where his shop was, and that was more than enough to cause havoc.

Finally, one night, Josselin sat down with Meara and a cup of tea on his couch and said, “Meara, have you ever thought of trying therapy?”

Meara’s head shot up and his hands clenched on his mug.

“What?” he asked.

“Therapy,” Josselin repeated. “Like, seeing someone who can help you work through all your problems with your family. Especially your mom. They can help you work through the stuff from when you were a kid and maybe help you come up with some more permanent solutions for your current issue with your mom.”

“Please don’t call her that,” Meara said. “’Mom’ sounds too… friendly.”

“Okay.” Josselin gently ran his fingers through Meara’s hair, and Meara collapsed against his shoulder. “What should I call her?”

“Her name,” Meara said. “Danielle.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled into Josselin’s shoulder. “I think I’m going to try to start calling her that, too. Maybe it will give her a little less power.”

“Yeah,” Josselin whispered. “I think that’s a good idea.”

* * *

 

Meara didn’t start to look up therapists in his area for another two weeks. But every shadow, every bump, every unexpected movement made him flinch away from the source, and finally, when he flinched away from Stacey during an especially emphatic sign, his friend said,

_I think it’s time._

Meara lifted his hands to respond, but his mind wouldn’t connect to them so he could form the movements. His eyes welled up and he buried his face in his hands. Stacey, who only came up to the middle of his chest, wrapped his arms around his friend tightly, patting his back. He pulled away to sign, _I’ll sit with you while you make the call._

* * *

 

Meara didn’t make the call right away. He spent some time looking around online for reviews and therapists that might specialize in his issues. The last thing he needed was someone who expected him to be grateful for Danielle just because she’d given birth to him, and while he’d never seen a therapist -- only a psychiatrist, for his medication -- he knew that was a possibility. It took hours and he still couldn’t find anyone he felt comfortable with, so finally, he called his psychiatrist and asked her.

“For my depression,” he said, “but mostly for family issues. I don’t want family therapy. It would be just me.”

His doctor gave him a few names in order of recommendation, and Meara started making calls. Stacey sat beside him on his bed the entire time, his hand curled tightly in Meara’s to offer support. The chime in his window tinkled, and the familiar tingling of fingertips at the base of his neck told him that The Sea Hag was there, too.

_You can do this._ The whisper went straight past his ears and directly into his mind. _You deserve to get help._

Stacey squeezed his hand. On the second call, he made an appointment with a woman named Terri, who his psychiatrist had said specialized in victims of abuse. He wasn’t able to get in for another week, since he couldn’t afford close down the shop and had to make his appointments on Mondays. But it was a start.

* * *

 

Never had Meara been so grateful that he and Josselin took the same day off as he was that cold Monday morning. Josselin drove him to the office so he wouldn’t have to bus home in emotional upheaval. Meara wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew nothing about this was going to be easy.

They left early and stopped for coffee on the way. Even though it was in the mid fifties, Meara got an iced latte and nervously chewed at his straw as he slowly sipped it up. Josselin put his coffee back in his cup holder and gently squeezed Meara’s knee.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured. Meara could barely hear him over the whirr of the car. “This’ll be good for you. I’ll be right out in the waiting room, and if you decide you want to pull me in for moral support, you can.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to --”

“ _If_ you want to,” Josselin repeated. “Only if. Don’t feel pressured. Please.”

* * *

 

The building was a sprawling office space made up of everything from medical professionals to insurance agents to psychics. Josselin parked and walked Meara to his new therapist’s office. The waiting room was small and cozy, with low lamp light and soft chairs and potted plants. A few home and garden magazines were scattered over a small coffee table. Josselin sat down as Meara checked in.

It was only a few minutes later when a middle-aged woman stepped out from behind the door.

“Meara?”

Meara looked up and Josselin squeezed his hand when he hesitated. He stood, hand lingering in Josselin’s for just a moment before he let it drop.

“It’ll be okay,” Josselin whispered. Meara turned back around, and when he did, his smile was genuine.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end! Thank you to everyone who stuck with me this far. This story is very special to me, and although, at the point of writing this, not many people have read it, it feels good to share. I hope it falls into the places just where it needs to be in the future.
> 
> Please visit me and read more about Meara and Josselin and their friends on Tumblr at indecentpause.tumblr.com !


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